


Howl (The Demon Inside)

by KaterinaRiley



Category: Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Demon Merlin, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hunter Arthur, Hurt Merlin, M/M, Merlin has tattoos and peircings, Not Brit Picked, Picture inspired, hurt Arthur, possessed Merlin, stopping Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaterinaRiley/pseuds/KaterinaRiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin was just a regular human. </p><p>Or at least he was until the demon Emrys decides to use him against his witch mother and possess him. </p><p>It's now the 21st century and Merlin and Emrys just struck up a deal: Merlin gets to be in charge of his body for a few years while Emrys kicks back, relaxes, and pretends to be human. It had been going perfectly...until Merlin meets Arthur. Things tend to take a turn for the worst after that. </p><p>Namely, Lucifer rising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl (The Demon Inside)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreyaFenris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaFenris/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Howl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/758992) by [FreyaFenris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaFenris/pseuds/FreyaFenris). 



> FINALLY!! IT’S DONE!! 
> 
> Whew! That took a while. Can I just say that the thing I hate most about long fics, is that I can never remember which person it’s in. First? Third? Which one did I start with?! Does anyone else have this problem? UGH. :/
> 
> This is 111 pages, so if there are any mistakes, I’m sorry, but it’s taken me about three weeks to edit this thing and I’m wiped out. 
> 
> Picture found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/758992/chapters/1419459?show_comments=true

_The Hunter and demon sit against a tree. Despite the pitch black darkness, lightened only by the flickering bright lights that danced in front of the demon, neither were scared. They had no reason to be frightened for it was them whom monsters feared._

_“So…”_

_The demon tilted his head, the only sign he gave to prove he was listening. The lights cast shadows on his face, making his expression unreadable._

_“What now?” the Hunter asked, twirling a dagger in his hands._

_Grinning, the demon answered, “Anything.”_

0~X~0

Heaven had been wonderful. Beautiful and clean and pure and right…

and just plain _awful_.

Singing and praising and watching and singing and watching and praising and singing…

and then _him_.

He came with promises on those sweet lips and truth in those earnest eyes. Truth that, as it turned out, wasn’t very genuine. Not that the authenticity of the truth actually mattered. That had been centuries, millennia even, ago, and the decision was never regretted.

(Those who did feel regret were never seen again.)

Falling was painful yet, strangely, revolutionary. Epiphanic.

Learning to cope without Heaven’s atmosphere was more difficult than originally anticipated, but it was worth it. It was worth it because of life.

There had been life above them. Precious life; _fragile_ life. Holding that life, touching those human souls, was one of the best feelings in the world.

Crushing that life was even better, and for a millennia everything was wonderful; it was ruthless and brutal and merciless, full of hate and disease and torture.

But nothing lasts forever. Not even for a Knight of Hell.

 x~X~x

It had been stuck in the same body for centuries. Stuck, trapped, imprisoned, bound, captive. All courtesy of a very vengeful witch with a severe lack of love for practical jokes.

(Really, you’d think a witch would have a sense of humor, but no. No, she didn’t find the little present funny at all. Granted, the gift it gave her was her husband’s bloody, broken body, which it had ripped apart and lain on her bed with flowers outlining the poor, dead man. Being a witch, you would’ve though she appreciated the extra ingredients for her potions. Key words there: _would’ve_ and _thought_.)

Not that it really minded being stuck. Well, not at first.

The body was young and male, perhaps in his early twenties. He wasn’t necessarily handsome, but it knew that the body wasn’t dreadfully ugly either – sharp cheekbones, ears that didn’t fit his head, a stature that was both tall and lean, blue eyes that always seemed to be complimented on, and a smile that was full of innocence and kindness…but that was only when it used the body’s smile. Normally, it just left the body’s face impassive, finding the action too tedious to do all the time.

It’s been told that, as it was chopping or burning or raping or slicing its victims, the body could appear quite cold and menacing.

Not that it cared what the body looked like. Appearances were only necessary for when it was hiding or luring. All it wanted was blood and murder and lust; to hear the screams, see the terror, cause the pain…

That is, until one day. It woke up one day, and it just… Didn’t.

The thrill lost luster. The chase became monotonous. The screams and begs were simply annoying noises scratching in its ear. It wanted something different. Something new.

This was when it learned the body’s name. When it finally let the body’s soul come to the surface.

(It had let the soul stay awake the whole time, let him watch as it killed and tricked and devoured. It liked the audience.)

 _‘Hello there,’_ it had said, speaking to the trapped soul inside the body.

The day had been normal – strangely sunny for the generally dreary England, but relatively normal. It wasn’t entirely sure where or when it was, but the day could be considered “beautiful” if it had a concept of beauty besides death and violence. The people walked by, completely oblivious to the inhuman creature seated on the park bench.

_‘We haven’t really had a chance to chat.’_

The soul remained stonily silent. He was seething, that much was obvious.

_‘I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride–’_

The soul rolled his eyes (figuratively speaking) and huffed out his irritation in a snort (also figuratively speaking). The anger that he emitted was strong and hot, almost causing it to shiver, despite the sun’s warmth, from the intensity.

_‘–but it’s gotten a bit boring wouldn’t you say?’_

There was silence. The silence lasted for so long it almost thought the soul wasn’t going to answer. No less than an hour drifted by before it heard what it was waiting for.

_‘I don’t consider murder boring.’_

It smiled. The soul was _actually_ communicating with it!

_‘We’ve been doing it for so long though.’_

_‘We? Oh no,_ you’re _the one who’s been doing everything.’_ The soul vibrated, his anger and disgust radiating off like tsunami tides from his pure-human energy. _‘Using my body as a tool!’_

 _‘Over four-hundred years,’_ it continued. A young girl walked by, smiling at the body. Out of habit, it smiled back. The girl ducked her head and giggled, but continued walking. It felt no regret at the loss of the potential victim. _‘Or is it seven-hundred? Fifteen?’_

 _‘You want to get out then? Please, I’m not stopping you.’_ Now the soul was radiating waves of revulsion; he obviously witnessed the exchange that just happened.

_‘Oh, I can’t leave. You know I can’t. Your mother was quite powerful, but then again you knew that. After all, she was the one to curse me. And you.’_

_'She thought I was dead.’_

It shrugged. ‘ _Just the same. We’re both trapped in this body.’_

 _‘In_ my _body you mean. Are you going to get to a point here?’_

This time, it was the one to remain silent. It thought of the best way to propose it’s plan, and finally, after several long minutes, it spoke.

 _‘All this guts and blood and gore is… Well, it’s not getting to me. It’s just becoming rather tiresome. I hear the same thing over and over again.’_ It changed its voice, growing higher; the voice of the man, the latest annoying pest it played with. _‘“Please! Please, don’t kill me! No! No!”’_ Stopping, it chuckled. _‘Well, I could go on, but I know you get the idea.’_

The soul trembled within the body. Whether he trembled because he was remembering the many voices of the victims or because he was angry, it didn’t know. It didn’t really care.

 _‘So I have a proposition for you. I’ll take a break. I’ll back off and let you do your own – “_ Thing _,” as the humans say. Get a job, make friends, find a wife – or a husband. Whatever. This century is quite lenient on that sort of thing.’_

_‘…Why are you doing this?’_

_‘Because I’m bored. Didn’t I already say that? I’m sure I did.’_

_‘What do you get out of it?’_

_‘A break. A chance to see what it’s like being human again.’_

_‘Even if you’re being honest, and I don’t think you are, I…’_ The soul grew quiet; now he’s sad. _‘I’m not sure if I remember how to be a proper human.’_

_‘I’m sure you can learn. Can’t be too difficult. Don’t murder anyone would be the main business to conduct, I’d imagine. And stay away from Hunters. They find out about us, they’ll kill us both.’_

_‘Is that such a bad thing?’_

_‘We are stuck, fused together in this body. If they send me to hell… well, you’d be coming with me.’_

It recalled its time in hell, bringing up the images, knowing they were being witnessed by the soul. The torture, the heat, the fear… After all, there _is_ a reason demons keep clawing their ways out of the abyss.

 _‘Oh…’_ The soul’s voice sounded small as he shied from the demon’s memories. He cleared his throat (metaphorically speaking of course) and spoke again, his voice stronger than before, but still a bit shaky. _‘Alright. Alright I’ll do it. On one condition.’_

It assumed the soul would say that. _‘Naturally. What is your condition?’_

_‘You warn me when you’re going to take back over – and I know you will. Give me a week’s notice._

_‘Is that it?’_

_‘No. I want at least five years as a human.’_

_‘You know you won’t age? You’ll stay like this forever, and you’ll have to leave so no one gets suspicious.’_

_‘I figured that, yes.’_

_‘Fine then. I agree.’_

_‘…My name’s Merlin.’_

_‘Call me Emrys.’_

And that was when the inexplicable happened – when a demon and a human become one. Not two different entities trapped in the same body, but two entities fused together to become one being, one life form. That was when they truly became inseparable.

 x~X~x 

_Three Years, Seven Months, Twenty-One Days After the Deal._

Merlin first meets the Hunter after a vampire attack.

 _‘You fool,’_ Emrys spits at him. ‘ _Don’t let him be even remotely suspicious. Don’t you dare.’_

But the words swirle around Merlin’s mind like fog.

Freya. Dear, sweet, innocent Freya. She is gone. Dead. Drained of blood by a vampire’s bite.

Merlin had been so careful. He never went anywhere that might be dangerous, and by dangerous, he means supernatural-related. Merlin stayed in the city, never went out after dark without protection (and dammit! he had brought a silver blade, why didn’t he use it? idiot!), and had a plethora of holy water and silver always ready on hand.

He wanted this normal life, wanted it so badly. And he had it. With Freya. Mundane life had been in his hands!

Then it was snatched away.

By those bloodthirsty leeches.

“Hello, my name is Agent Green with the FBI. I have a few questions for you.”

Merlin looks up to see a man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a killer smile. Literally, killer. This man is no FBI. He's a Hunter.

But Merlin doesn't care. He doesn't heed Emrys’ warning. Those bastards took Freya away and he will make them pay. He’ll make them pay by setting the Hunter on them.

_‘That’s wise…and down-right devious. Merlin, I’m quite proud.’_

_‘Shut up,’_ he hisses in his mind.

Merlin answers the questions “Agent Green” asks. He says what he’d been doing just before _–“Taking a stroll in the light of the rising sun, sir. We’re both insomniacs.”_ – and that, _“No, I’d never seen the ‘people’ before tonight, Agent Green.”_

“Okay, I think we’re done here. Thank you–”

“Listen,” Merlin says interrupting the fake agent. “I know what killed Freya and I know you’re no FBI.”

 _‘You idiot,’_ Emrys sighs in clear annoyance and exasperation. Merlin doesn't care.

“What–?”

“So when you find those leeches,” Merlin pauses, looking the man dead in the eyes. “Don’t you dare hold anything back.”

Then he turns and leaves. Quickly. So the Hunter won't follow him. It's easy to disappear in the crowd when you have the supernatural powers of a demon to aid you.

 _‘You really are an idiot,’_ Emrys says. He sounds resigned. _‘I hope you enjoy hell as much as I did.’_

x~X~x

It's a few days later when the man shows up again. This time, he's wearing dark blue jeans and a red V-neck shirt rather than the cheap suit ‘n’ tie get-up. There's a black leather jacket draped over a motorcycle that had to be the man’s since he's leaning against it.

 _‘We’re so ganna die,’_ the demon states.

 _‘No, we’re not. Shut up.’_  

Merlin had known this would be coming and he had a plan.

(He prays to anything and everything he could think of that it would work.)

“Hullo,” he greets cheerfully. The man doesn't say anything. Merlin waits for a few moments before shrugging and saying, “Okay then. Bye.” He turns to leave, he's only a few steps away from his flat, but something grabs his arm.

“Who are you?” the man asks.

“Merlin,” Merlin replies.

“Alright then, _Mer_ lin. _What_ are you?”

“Not a vamp,” he answers truthfully.

“Obviously not a Hunter either.”

Merlin frowns. That’s actually what he had been trying to aim for. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re too skinny; not enough muscle. I bet you couldn’t even lift a brick.” The man, whether it was consciously or not, flexes his muscles. He definitely has more body mass than Merlin. (Who wasn’t skinny, mind you! He was lean and well-toned.)

Inside Merlin, Emrys laughs. _‘I’d love to show that dick how much I can really lift. You think his heart would look nice sewn to his arse? With a gaping hole in the middle of his chest? Come on Merlin! Let me take over! Let me rip his heart out.’_

“And you don’t have the look in your eyes,” the fake agent continues. Merlin almost laughs. He doesn't have to ask what look the man is talking about; he knowsit all too well. Merlin doesn't have the “look” in his eyes because he's actually a good actor; with a demon possessing him, he has to know how to hide. Freya had even convinced him to try out of the community play last year; he’d gotten the leading role.

Ignoring Emrys, and ignoring the thought of Freya, Merlin answers the man with a, “Well you’re a prat and I bet you couldn’t get your head out from your arse even of you tried.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just because I don’t have the muscles of a god, doesn’t mean I’m not Hunter.”

“Muscles of a god?” the blonde repeats, quirking his eyebrow.

 _‘Smooth,’_ Emrys says. _‘At least he’s hot. Maybe we’ll experience sex one last time before we’re sent off to hell.’_

 _‘Would you kindly,_ shut up _!?’_

“Whatever,” Merlin says, jerking his arm out of the man’s grasp. “I don’t need this. My girlfriend hasn’t even been dead for a week, and here you are harassing and insulting me. Goodbye.” He turns to leave again, but his arm was once again caught. Same arm, same place. He’s going to have a bruise. Merlin inwardly groans.

“Come with me.”

Merlin's caught off guard by the most definite command he was just told. “What?”

“Come with me. Someplace less…public.”

Looking around, Merlin sees no one staring at them. He sees no one at all really, but they were in front of the dodgy building where his very cheap, very unsanitary flat was located, so there _was_ that.

“And why would I do that?”

“So I can prove you’re not lying.”

“I don’t think it matters what you think, so I’m going to leave now.”

Unfortunately, he can't escape the man’s grasp this time.

 

“On the bike. Now.” His tone leaves no room for discussion.

Well, shit.

“Fine. You clotpole.”

The Hunter’s lips quirk, but he says nothing. Still holding onto Merlin, he swings his leg over the motorcycle and motions for Merlin to do the same. Only then did he let go of Merlin’s arm.

“Hold on tight,” he warns before revving up the engine and taking off.

Merlin may or may not have made an undignified squeaking sound as he clings onto the Hunter like a desperate man. If humans were meant to harness super speed or be in the sky or go underwater for long periods of time, they would have been born with the abilities to do just that. But they weren’t. And so Merlin would never understand why humans of the 21st century felt it necessary to continue finding things that just should not be possible. There was nothing wrong with his time, where the fastest one could go was on a horse. The Hunter took them on a sharp turn and Merlin held on even tighter than before, burying his face in the man’s back and whispering prayers of safety.

 _‘Oh yeah,’_ Emrys says. _‘We’re totally going to be slaughtered. Idiot.’_

x~X~x 

The first thing the Hunter does is give Merlin some water.

“You okay?” he asks, eyeing the pale, shivering mess sitting on the hard, cold stool.

“F-Fine,” Merlin answers. He drowns the glass of water in one go. He's surprised it's actual water and not the holy stuff. “Just hate moving quickly.”

“Then how the hell do you get around?”

“I walk.”

“That must take forever.”

“It was a perfectly acceptable way to get around a thousand years ago, and it’s perfect acceptable now, too.”

The Hunter raises an eyebrow but says nothing to Merlin’s grumblings.

“Shall we begin?” he asks, holding up a knife that was most definitely silver lined. At least he waited until Merlin was done with his water.

“Sure.” Merlin brandishes his wrist, flinching when the blade touched his skin. The Hunter must’ve attributed it to the sting of the sharp blade and not the sting of the biting silver. At least while he, Merlin, was in control of the body, the tests wouldn’t affect him as badly.

“So am I done?” he asks.

“Not yet.”

Next is holy water. After being splashed in the face rather rudely, Merlin swallows the foul-tasting liquid trying not to grimace or burb. If he burped then the steam would emit from his mouth and that wasn’t something humans do.

“Done now?”

“One more thing. Walk toward me.”

It seems like a silly thing to ask, but Merlin does. Or at least, Merlin _tries_. He walks only a few steps when an invisible barrier blocks him. He didn't even need to look up to see the pentagram and know he was in serious trouble.

 _‘So close,’_ Emrys taunts him. _‘So very, very close.’_

Merlin smacks his face, rubbing the side of his head where a migraine is forming.

“Well, shit.”

x~X~x

“What are you waiting for? Exercise the demon already!”

They’ve been standing there for what felt like an hour. The Hunter simply watches Merlin; no emotion in his eyes, but he definitely assessing the situation he found himself in (Merlin is too, just with a lot more panic.)

“Don’t think too hard, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Merlin quips, sitting on the stool.

Merlin waits. He stands back up again. He waits. He starts walking around in circles. He's still waiting.

“Look, I’m really getting bored here. If you’re wondering about family or anything, I don’t have any. Freya was the closest thing I had and she’s dead–” (and Merlin hates that his voice didn’t quiver in the slightest upon saying her name; what had Emrys done to him?) “–so could you hurry it up?”

 _‘What’s the rush?’_ Emrys asks. _‘Enjoy the boredom while you still can. In Hell, you_ wish _you were bored.’_

 _‘Oh, would you just_ shut it _, you useless demon!’_

_‘Touchy, touchy.’_

Merlin sighs. He sits back down on the stool, still waiting.

“There’s something about you, Merlin,” the Hunter finally speaks. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. The silver and holy water did nothing, and yet here you are. Trapped.”

Merlin says nothing. He watches as the Hunter walks closer to him. Closer. Closer. They're nearly nose-to-nose.

“‘Exercise the demon.’”

Merlin blinks. “…I’m sorry, what?”

“That’s what you said. ‘Exercise the demon.’ As if you weren’t one.”

“I’m not.”

“And still you’re stuck.”

“Yes.”

“…What are you?” he asks again, this time in wonder.

Merlin decides the truth was in order. “I’m not actually sure.”

x~X~x 

The Hunter had left a few hours ago. He didn’t say anything, just got up and left.

 _‘Well, damn,’_ Emrys sighs. _‘Looks like we won’t be getting sex after all.’_

“Sex isn’t the only thing that matters, you know,” Merlin replies. His words echo in the empty room. He doesn't like it.

 _‘But it’s definitely_ one _of the things that matter. One of the best.’_

Merlin doesn't reply. Suddenly, his mind is filled with images of a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed Hunter in scantily clad clothing and in very provocative positions.

“Emrys!” Merlin hisses.

_‘What? He’s very easy on the eyes.’_

An image of the Hunter naked appears next. He's looming over an equally naked Merlin.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and clutches his head. “Emrys, stop!”

Emrys pouts. _‘Spoil sport.’_

“Talking to yourself?”

The sudden voice causes fear to trickle down Merlin’s spine. It wouldn’t be the first time he encountered a demon that wanted to kill him.

Slowly, Merlin looks up to see his attacker.

It isn't a demon.

“You’re back,” Merlin says in disbelief. He stares at the Hunter, wondering if his eyes were tricking him. Maybe it's just the light.

“Yes, I’m back,” the man replies, a coy smirk on his face. He walks closer until he's a few feet away, then he pulls up a chair that Merlin didn't realize was there, sits in it, and takes out a burger. He begins eating and the smell of food wafts over Merlin, reminding him that he hasn't eaten since yesterday’s dinner and he's absolutely starving. His stomach decides to tell the world that by growling.

The Hunter raises an eye. He continues eating slowly, making the act of consumption something like that of a porn movie. It doesn't help Merlin’s hunger at all. Or his sense of arousal.

(Dammit! Freya just died and he had really liked her. Simply _thinking_ about the Hunter feels like cheating on her memory.)

“Who’s Emrys?” the Hunter finally asks. The burger is gone now and he's licking his fingers clean.

“Um. What?” Merlin hasn't been paying attention; he's way too busy trying not to notice how there was still bits of lettuce on the wrapper…or how the Hunter’s tongue dashes out to meet his fingers, liking them clean.

The wrapper is then crumbled into a ball by those same licked fingers and tossed to the side; Merlin’s eyes follow it until it stops rolling. He wonders if there's some cheese melted onto the parchment. He loves chewing the cheese off burger wrappers.

The sudden smell of chips makes Merlin’s knees weak. He shifts his eyes, inadvertently crossing them as he stares at the food just under his nose. Nice, golden, greasy chips. Merlin can feel his mouth watering.

“Hungry?” the Hunter asks. He moves the chips tauntingly back and forth.

Merlin doesn't answer for fear of the saliva that would waterfall out of his mouth dare he open it.

The Hunter drops the crisps. Instinctively, Merlin reaches out, catching them before they hit the floor (thanking _everything_ for demon superpowers) and, not wasting any time, begins stuffing them in his mouth. They're gone far too soon.

“So who’s Emrys?” the Hunter asks again

 _‘Don’t say anything,’_ Emrys warns.

So Merlin doesn't, and now it's the Hunter’s turn to wait.

“…You going to say anything?”

Merlin just stands there. His hand twitches.

“I know you want to tell me.”

It's true and Merlin can't help giving the Hunter a pleading look. He does. He truly does want someone to know, someone to talk to besides the demon inside of him about, well, about the demon inside him. But he can’t. He knows he can’t.

“I’ll leave you here. To rot. To starve.”

His hand twitches again.

_‘Don’t. It’s better to be here then down there. Remember: Alastair.’_

An image flashes in Merlin’s mind and he flinches.

“Then leave,” he says, his voice sounding hollow. “Don’t waste your time; I’m not saying anything.”

The Hunter waits for a few minutes, watching Merlin. 

With his head ducked down, Merlin asks quietly, “…Did you give those leeches hell?”

He can't see the Hunter’s face, but somehow Merlin knows that the Hunter's smirking.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is much softer than Merlin thought it would be. “I did.”

Slowly, Merlin looks up. “Thanks.”

“But you still won’t answer any of my questions will you?”

True to his word, Merlin stays silent. He takes the time to memorize the Hunter’s face, knowing he’d never see it again.

He’s young –they’re always young– and around his age. Or the age he looks at least. Early twenties, maybe younger. (Merlin himself looks somewhere between 20 and 25 – he says he looks 23, but he doesn’t know for sure since his birthdate wasn’t exactly recorded.) Golden blonde hair, blue eyes a bit darker than his own, and, of course, well-built. His tanned arms ripple with every flex of his muscles. A scar ran down his left arm. Judging from the pattern, Merlin assumes it was a Vetala’s fang that made the mark. (Merlin wonders who saved the Hunter since he would’ve been sedated from the venom in the creature’s teeth.)

Before Merlin can catalog anymore, the Hunter turns around and walks away. Once he reaches the door of the barn, he pauses and looks back. Merlin meets his eyes for a second before averting his gaze. He doesn’t say anything. He can’t. He hears the Hunter sigh before walking out of the barn for good.

Merlin sits down on the chair. _‘What now?’_ he asks.

Emrys doesn’t answer at first, but when he does, he sounds tired. _‘Now we wait.’_

_‘For what?’_

His question is met with silence.

x~X~x 

Merlin finds his answer one week later. Two demons, a male and a female, walk into the barn, looking exceptionally smug.

“I see you’ve gotten stuck,” says the male. By his absurd accent, he’s obviously American. If it weren’t for the pitch black eyes, he could’ve been a transfer student: he was early thirties, blonde, military-styled hair, had a pierced ear, and military-grade combat boots with jeans and a university sweatshirt.

“And you somehow didn’t die, well done.” The girl claps mockingly and smiles with dark glee. From her accent, she’s definitely from England. She looks pretty enough; her hair is twisted up in a bun, little strands peeking out here and there with her brightly-patterned sundress donned on that goes great with her dark skin. If only the black eyes didn’t ruin the image.

 _‘Let me take over,’_ Emrys says. He sounds almost fearful.

_‘Why?’_

“We’ll get you out of there, you poor thing,” the American says. His grin is vile.

“For a price though.” The girl’s fingers tapped her fingers across an abandoned chair. Somehow, she managed to make the elegant fluttering look positively pornographic.

“What price?” Merlin asks, shifting uncomfortably on his stool. Thinking about the girl’s seductive fingers reminds him of how the Hunter ate the burger days ago. Now he’s hungry _and_ horny.

 _‘Give up,’_ Emrys says, snapping Merlin out of his reverie. _‘Let me be in charge.’_

(If Merlin didn’t know any better he’d say Emrys was pleading with him.)

“You work for our leader,” American says. “It’s not really that bad. You’re a demon, he’s a demon. He has us do demon-y things.”

“It’s quite fun,” the girl adds with a wink. The body is young, barely a teenager. Merlin wonders if the girl is still inside or if she’s dead. She’s probably dead. For the girl’s sake, Merlin prays she’s dead.

“So you’re saying that if I promise to join your cult, you’ll let me out?” Merlin asks. He’s not sure if he likes that.

“Of course,” the girl says. She narrows her eyes slightly, as if she were looking right through Merlin. Can she tell if a human is actually the one in control and not a demon?

That’s when Merlin’s forced back. He’s being pushed back into the corner of his mind, the corner he’s come to know all-too-well. If it were possible to bang your head against the walls of your own mind, that’s what he did. It hurt.

“When do I start?” Merlin hears himself ask. He feels a smile on his lips, as cold as it used to be. He can tell when his eyes become two pitch black sockets of hatred.

Emrys is in charge now.

x~X~x 

_Eight Years, One Month After the Deal._

It’s been five years. Five years since Emrys forced Merlin out of the pilot’s seat. (Well, technically it had been four years and six months on the dot, but who’s counting?) It’s not like he had a choice; he couldn’t let the others know or else… Emrys doesn’t want to think about what would’ve happened.

It’s bad, and most certainly unhealthy, but Emrys has come quite attached to the human inside the body. Unfortunately, with a human soul infused in this body, Emrys requires sustenance. Granted, the sustenance can come in any form, but each time he swallows a handful of blood, his stomach squirms in disgust. He can sense Merlin in his mind, being his conscience, his Jiminy Cricket. The hate that waves off of Merlin’s essence is strong. Not that Emrys blames him; even _he_ is starting to be annoyed by the demons. (He was actually enjoying the peaceful life he had when Merlin had been in charge for those short three years!) It doesn’t help that he fears Alastair will discover his secret. Or worse, succeed in his plan.

Emrys might be a demon, he might enjoy the occasional torture and rape (which is harder to enjoy with Merlin being much more vocal than he previously was – not that Emrys really tries to shush him), because well, _demon_ , but that doesn’t mean he wants _him_ back. He’s not stupid. Emrys knows he exists; he’s not a myth like others seem to think. Emrys is old, very old, and he remembers. He remembers _him_.

If they manage to bring Lucifer back, it will be hell on earth. Having one hell was bad enough, but two? With _Lucifer_ in charge? Oh no. Emrys prefers earth as it is, humans as they are. It’s paradise for him and many other demons escaping hell, causing their own personal torture on humanity (which, again, is much more difficult with the ever-so-vocal Merlin constantly yapping at him).

Bottom line: Lucifer should _not_ return.

Of course if he somehow does, Emrys will be one of the first on his knees worshiping his king because he doesn’t really want to die. Not by Lucifer’s hand. Maybe he’ll even get his old position back.

x~X~x 

It’s a regular day. Monday. No, wait, it’s a Sunday. Or maybe Thursday….

Well, the point is, it’s a regular day. Torture, a bit of blood eating, some rape, lunch.

Then someone says Alastair is back.

And he wants Jinn.

Emrys grimaces. The name he told his “rescuers” wasn’t one of his best, but it wasn’t his real name and that’s all that really matters. (Never give demons your true name, especially if those demons work for Alastair. Names hold power.)

“What? Why?” he asks, trying to act innocent. After all, he’s only a demon. No one knows who is really is, so why should Alistair want _Jinn_?

“Don’t know, don’t care,” the messenger demon shrugs.

“But I’m not done yet,” Emrys says, waving a hand toward the newest human captive. He’d almost been able to get the human to tell him where the document was. (Merlin had been yelling all sorts of curses at Emrys during the “interrogation” and Emrys knew he was in trouble when he was actually agreeing with the human that he shouldn’t be doing this. He didn’t even know why or what document he was trying to locate.)

“Would you like me to tell Alastair that?”

“No, no,” the demon quickly backtracks. “I’ll go. You can finish up with him.”

Emrys strides out of the room, his hands dripping blood as he walks. The door closes as the victim suddenly finds his voice again and begins begging for his life to the new demon. Emrys forces himself not to vomit when the pleadings cut short with a loud, vibrating _CRUCNH_.

 _‘You’re all monsters,’_ Merlin seethes.

_‘We’re demons; what do you expect?’_

For once in his life, Emrys wishes he wasn’t though. (For one single microsecond, he wonders what it would’ve been like had he stayed an angel –maybe he could’ve been that Hunter’s guardian angel since that was his previous position up in heaven– but that thought was crushed before it ever fully formed.) Emrys sure what to make of that desire, so instead of dwelling on the strange and unknown, he follows the aura of power Alastair gives off. It’s easy to locate the room Alistair’s in, all Emrys must do is take note of the twists and turns of the pathway.

 _‘What do you think he wants?’_ Merlin asks him, his voice soft. He’s asking for forgiveness for his outburst.

 _‘Who knows,’_ Emrys answers back, voice just as quiet. He forgives Merlin, not that Merlin should really seek forgiveness; Emrys deserved it. He _is_ a monster.

Before entering the sealed room, Emrys takes a deep breath. Aside from the blood and fear, the air smells metallic. It should, since the headquarters Alistair had chosen for his demons was a machine factory. It only looks half-made.

“Alastair,” Emrys greets to the darkness as soon as he enters the room. “You wanted to see me?”

Inside, Merlin laughs. _‘You’re bowing to shadows. You look ridiculous.’_ However, there’s a hint of intrigue in Merlin’s tone, and Emrys remembers that this is the first time Merlin will meet the infamous demon.

“Jinn,” the shadows say. The accent is American. “You’re new, are you not?”

Further back, there’s a sound of muffled moans and chains clanging together. Merlin shivers inside the body. He doesn’t seem so keen to meet the demon now.

“Yes,” Emrys answers.

The lights suddenly flicker on. Alastair isn’t alone. Emrys immediately recognizes the both men. They may be in different hosts, but they still look the same underneath.

Alastair’s host appears to be middle age. He’s tall, thin, and growing a rather scratchy-looking beard and mustache combination. He could be a photographer…if it weren’t for the lack of a camera. A dripping dagger in his hand and his pitch black eyes erase any doubts of who this man is.

The man beside Alastair looks older; wrinkles on his face, salt and pepper hair. His height much shorter than his companion’s; however, the unmistakable yellow eyes are a dead giveaway for who he truly is.

“Azazel?”

The second man laughs. “Of course. You honestly didn’t think Alastair could pull all this off? Gathering recruits? Raising Lucifer?”

Beside him, Alastair frowns.

Emrys stays silent.

“Come, _Jinn_ ,” Azazel says, putting unnecessary emphasis on his name. Emrys wants to run, to hide, but he can’t. “I wish to show you something.”

Knowing he has no other choice, Emrys follows. Alastair is right behind him, muttering about how he could’ve pulled it off alone and that he really didn’t need Azazel’s help. One look from the yellow-eyed demon stopped his flow of words immediately.

The further the trio walk, the louder the grunts and clacking become. Soon, they’re in sight of the prisoner. Emrys doesn’t falter his steps, but Merlin (within the confines of his own mind) gasps.

It’s the Hunter. The one from years ago.

“Meet our most annoying foe in the European area,” Azazel introduces.

The Hunter stills from his struggle, looking up. He sees Merlin’s face right away and hooks on it, his eye –only one because his other eye is swollen shut– narrows slightly. Emrys prays the Hunter says nothing to compromise his (or Merlin’s) identity. He also wonders how the Hunter could’ve remembered Merlin after all this time.

“But don’t worry,” Alastair chimes in, holding up his bloody knife. “He won’t be a bother much longer.”

Unfortunately, Emrys can see that it’s true. Not only is the Hunter’s left eye swollen shut, his naked torso is covered in bruises and cuts, ranging from long to short, shallow to deep, and stabs to slices. The rest of him isn’t any better. His pants are in bloody tatters and his feet look as though the Hunter ran for miles over glass; his blonde hair is so dirty and greasy Emrys wonders how long they’ve had him. How long he didn’t know.

 _‘We have to get him out of here!’_ Merlin cries.

 _‘And kill ourselves in the process? No way,’_ he answers back. Emrys isn’t about to stick his neck out for someone who left Merlin high and dry five years ago.

_‘Emrys–’_

_‘I said_ no _, Merlin. Leave it.’_

(Emrys has a feeling Merlin wouldn’t leave it.)

“Beautiful work, isn’t it, Jinn?” Alastair continues.

A flash of confusion appears in the Hunter’s eye.

“His name is Arthur Pendragon,” Azazel informs. “Now as far as Hunters go, his family history is the worst.” With a laugh, Azazel kicks the Hunter in the ribs. “Son of a rich business man, who never really had time for his kids; son of an ex-Hunter mom, who died during childbirth thanks to a perfectly placed hex bag; and brother to a Hunter-turned-witch. Crazy family, am I right?”

“Why are you telling me this? Shouldn’t you inform a higher ranking demon?” Emrys asks. He doesn’t like knowing all this information. Something is wrong. Very wrong. The feeling to run and hide returns, stronger than ever.

“That was my question,” Alastair grumbles. Azazel, on the other hand, smirkes.

“I thought I was, _Emrys_.”

Emrys takesa step back, unable to conceal the startled surprise quickly spreading across his face. However, he doesn't try to deny it. He knows it's pointless.

“What?” Alastair gasped. “No, he’s dead.”

_‘What’s going on? Emrys… What haven’t you told me?’_

Merlin questions went ignored.

“I’m surprised you don’t want to bring your lord back,” Azazel continues. “You were, after all, a knight of hell. Second only to Abaddon herself.”

“…That was a long time ago,” Emrys answers tensely. “How did you find out?”

Azazel puts his finger to his lips, his yellow eyes twinkling and a gleeful smirk stretched across his face.

“Lord Emrys,” Alastair says, his voice full of awe.

Once Emrys would’ve loved to hear that. Hear the admiration and fear and respect, but now… Now that he finally had a taste of human life again, now that he has a companion (of sorts) that he found in Merlin, now that he _craves_ a dull life…

“What happened to you? You never returned from your task,” Alastair asks, genuine wonder in his voice.

“I…” Emrys hesitates. Should he really say? “I killed the witch,” he replies slowly. “But she cursed me.”

“Stuck in the same body for ages?” Azazel guesses. “Must be bloody awful. How did the kid handle it?”

“Not very well. His soul departed almost immediately,” Emrys lies. He feels Merlin wince, and Emrys remembers how close that statement actually could’ve been the truth. But Merlin was a stubborn human and Emrys was a patient demon. Eventually, he kept Merlin inside simply out of a need for an audience. (Also, it had been nice knowing that he wasn’t alone. Running from demons, not building any relationships with humans… Torturing Merlin’s soul to stay with him had been a pleasant reminder that he always had someone with him.)

“Please,” Alastair brandishes his knife to Emrys. “Lord Emrys, please do the honors.” He inclines his head to the Hunter, to Arthur.

“Of course,” Emrys takes the knife and walks closer to the chained man.

_‘What the hell! No! Emrys, don’t you dare!_

_‘Be quiet, Merlin. This must be done.’_

He stands in front of Arthur. He can feel Alastair and Azazel at his back, watching eagerly.

Then the impossible happened.

Just as he raises his knife to Arthur’s neck, Emrys feels his hand slacken. He feels himself turn around, grab the two demons’ heads, and smack them together before the knife clatters to the floor. Azazel and Alastair fell to the ground unconscious.

“Dammit, Merlin!” Emrys curses. Then another impossibility happened: he feels himself being pushed away. The body turns, dropping to its knees in front of the prisoner.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Merlin promises. His hands fumble with the chains at first, but he eventually just tugs at the chains, breaking them into pieces. Emrys realizes with a start that Merlin had just tapped into his demon powers.

“Wha–?” Arthur tries to ask, but Merlin shushes him, pulling him into a stand.

“I’ll explain later; we must hurry. Is your motorcycle outside?”

Arthur givesa tiny nod before nearly collapsing, only staying on his feet by Merlin’s sheer (demon-tapped) strength. The Hunter is very pale.

_‘He’s lost a lot of blood, Merlin. He needs a hospital.’_

“Shut up, I’m angry at you,” Merlin hisses back, not realizing he spoke aloud.

“Who are you–”

“Never mind that,” Merlin covers quickly. He glances out at the corridor and, seeing that no one was there, quickly walks down the hallway with the half-conscious Hunter in tow.

_‘They’re going to wake up soon. Or someone is going to see us.’_

_‘Not helping!’_

_‘I’m just saying…’_

“Well, stop,” Merlin whispers in exasperation.

Arthur glancs at him, but otherwise says nothing.

They reach the motorcycle without a hitch. Merlin sets Arthur in front while he climbs in behind him and revves the engine. That’s when two bad things happened.

One, the demons, including Azazel and Alastair, come running out of the building, with their black, soulless eyes glistening with rage. _Extremely angry_ would be an understatement.

Two, Merlin remembered his hatred (and extreme fear) of all things fast. He froze on the motorbike, unable to move, let alone press the pedal.

 _‘You idiot!’_ Emrys chides.

Just in the nick of time, he takes back control, wraps one arm around Arthur’s waist, grips the handle with the other, and takes off.

Arthur collapses into his chest. He's still breathing, but he's most certainly unconscious.

 _‘Can you heal him?’_ Merlin asks.  

 _‘I’m a_ demon _, Merlin. I don’t heal, I hurt.’_

Merlin rolls his eyes. _‘Well I’m the son of a witch and I was the village’s physician-in-training. Take us to the nearest motel, get me some bandages, alcohol, and paracetamol. Morphine if you can find it. Also need some incense and cinnamon and–’_

Merlin continues rattling off ingredients.

_‘I can’t believe you still remember all that after all this time.’_

_‘What else could I think about if not my childhood?’_

Emrys remains silent after that.

When they arrive at the motel, Emrys lays Arthur down on the bed (horrible bed sheets, but it was the best motel they could find due to their lack of money) before dashing off to get the supplies. He returns in record time and lets Merlin take over.

Arthur is close to death, but that seems to be no matter for the witch’s son. Emrys watches silently, and even a bit awed, as Merlin works meticulously and precociously on the Hunter. His concentration never wanders nor do his hands tremble in the slightest. Merlin was constantly murmuring spells as his hands mixed and sprinkled and poured. In no time, the smell of the herbs and incense clung to the air, making the room feel heavy and thick.

Just a little over an hour after first arriving in the motel, the room still smelling strongly of cinnamon and other spices Emrys can't identify, Arthur is finally stable. His strength is returning slowly but surely as he slumbers with a tightly bound and excessively spelled over chest. Merlin releases a deeply exhausted (and relieved) sigh before sluggishly walking away from his patient, his legs and mind feeling very much like Jell-O. He collapses on the second bed and falls asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

 _‘Idiot,’_ Emrys whispers softly. He imagins himself stoking the hair out of Merlin’s eyes. _‘You used too much energy.’_

But Arthur isalive, Merlin isalive, and the demons shouldn’t be able to track them with all the wards and protections spells Merlin did around the room during the hour he healed Arthur.

 _Maybe_ , Emrys thinks to himself, _just maybe things would turn out okay_.

x~X~x 

Merlin wakes with a pain in his back and a feeling that someone is watching him. He opens his eyes, mumbling curses at the terrible bed. At first, he doesn't recognizing the room he's in –a bloody awful room with a horrible paintjob that was too bright and too ugly– but then his eyes land on a man. A very familiar looking man. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and–

“Oh my God!” Merlin gasps, sitting up so quickly he falls (flails) out of his bed. Popping his head back up so he's about on the same eye-level as the man, Merlin can't help but stare. “You’re alive!”

“You sound surprised,” the Hunter –Arthur– says wearily. He's still lying on the bed, looking very tired and much too sore to move. He watches Merlin very carefully, and Merlin abruptly feels a strong sense of consciousness, thinking about the tight skin across his features and the dark circles under his eyes. He starts rambling.

“Yeah. I mean, no. No, I knew I’d be able to heal you, of course I could since it’s fairly easy to do, but it’s just been so long since I tried anything like that and I wasn’t sure it would work and the ingredients weren’t quite the same as they should’ve been–”

“Are you bipolar?” Arthur interrupts.

Merlin’s jaw snaps shut. The question is so unexpected that, for a moment, Merlin isn't sure if the Hunter, Arthur, actually spoke. “Uh – what?”

“I said: Are you bipolar?”

“…I just saved your life and you ask me _that_?”

“You’re a bit funny in the head, aren’t you?”

“You’re a bit of a prat, aren’t _you_?”

 _‘Easy Merlin,’_ Emrys says calmly. _‘He hasn’t had the best night. Or nights. How long do you reckon he was there in the factory?’_

_‘Shut up, I’m still angry at you.’_

“See, there you go,” Arthur says, waving a heavy-looking arm in Merlin general direction. “Your eyes get all glassy and you look away… Are you daydreaming or in a trance or something?”

Merlin sputters. “I am _not_ in a trance. I’m not daydreaming either, prat.”

Arthur’s falls silent. He stares at Merlin like he’s some strange sort of puzzle and Arthur simply _must_ figure out every single piece before he can put to entirety together.

The hard floor started feeling uncomfortable on his arse, so Merlin moves back toward his bed. His eyes never left Arthur’s…nor did the Hunter’s eyes leave Merlin’s. They wait, both staring at the other. Merlin, knowing that Arthur wouldn’t be able to leave without passing out again, lets his mind wander. He makes a To-Do list in his head, categorizing each activity into ‘priority’ and ‘can be ignored for now’. For starters, he’s going to have to put another healing spell on Arthur since the first one is already fading, and he has to figure out where to go after Arthur’s able to move without fainting. Maybe the Hunter has some safe places? And he’s going to have to stop Lucifer from rising. He remembers the time with their precious ‘god’ and it wasn’t good.

Wait a minute.

 _He_ remembers the time? Merlin wasn’t even alive during Lucifer’s reign! How could _he_ remember?

_‘Emrys…?’_

_‘I’m not sure,’_ Emrys answers, his voice full of hesitation. _‘It’s been going on for a while, I think. Slowly. Very slowly. I noticed it at the factory the other day.’_

 _‘What has? Why can I remember hell when I haven’t been there? …Emrys, it’s so_ clear _.’_

 _‘It’s… Our memories are becoming one._ We’re _becoming one.’_

_‘Does…does that mean one of us is going to take control of the other?’_

Emrys takes a deep breath. He doesn’t answer at first, but when he does, the words aren’t very comforting. _‘I’m not sure.’_

Merlin’s eyes focus for a second. Arthur is still staring at him, but the Hunter’s lips were as silent as ever. There’s a scar over his heart, an intricate creation designed to cause a lot of pain and create a lot of blood without actually killing the victim. Merlin sees red.

_‘Couldn’t you feel him? In the factory? Didn’t you know that he was in there?’_

_‘Merlin, I had no way of–'_

_‘Shut up! You didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me anything! Lord Emrys._ Lord _Emrys! You’re one of Lucifer’s knights!’_

 _‘I_ was _one. Not anymore.’_

_‘Please. Like you just suddenly got all warm and cozy with the idea of participating in humanity rather than eliminate it._

_‘It’s the truth.’_

“Why did you save me?”

Merlin blinks, his eyes refocusing. Arthur is staring at him expectantly.

 _‘That’s an excellent question. Why_ did _you save the ungrateful human?’_

_‘Shut up, I’m back to being mad at you.’_

Truth is though, it _is_ an excellent question. Why did Merlin feel so compelled to save the man that left him abandoned in a warehouse so many years ago? It’s a question that Merlin doesn’t really have an answer to.

“Would you rather have died?” Merlin asks quietly instead. He’s tired of being angry; he doesn’t want to be angry. Not at Emrys or at Arthur. All he wants is a normal life.

“Of course not.” Arthur pauses, his eyes suddenly sharp and focused. “But there’s got to be something. Some other motive. What is it? What do you want?”

There was a trace of fear in his voice. After all, here he was, a skilled Hunter who had been previously captured by two of the worst demons and then saved by yet another demon. He couldn’t move, he probably couldn’t think as clearly as he normally could, and, most important, he couldn’t fight. It’s no wonder he’s fearful. Merlin’s actually surprised Arthur’s not down-right petrified; he’s rather calm for a man in his position.

“Right now…” Merlin stands up, moving closer to Arthur, whose cringe is so slight, Merlin barely caught it. “Right now, I just want you to get better.”

Merlin places a hand on Arthur’s forehead, whispering the words to reactivate the ingredients still in his system. Arthur’s eyes immediately begin drooping.

“Wha-?”

“Shh, it’s fine,” Merlin sooths, brushing the fringe off of Arthur’s forehead. “You just need to sleep. You’ll feel better once you wake up. I promise you’ll wake up.”

Arthur nods, just a small inclination downwards. “I like…your piercings,” he murmurs quietly before falling into a long, dreamless sleep.

Merlin cracks a smile, putting a finger to his lips, where a silver ring dwells. There’s another one on his eyebrow.

 _‘I bet you’re happy to have those things_ now _,’_ Emrys mocks.

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin says, trying not to laugh. He’s glad Arthur’s sleeping because he can just feel his face burning up. “He only said that because he’s body is reacting as though he were high."

 _‘Sure, sure.’_ Emrys is smirking. _‘Still, I wonder what he thinks of tattoos. Especially that_ inner thigh _one…’_

“Emrys!”

Emrys laughs.

x~X~x 

When Arthur wakes up the second time, Merlin’s already redressed his abdomen and reinforced the protection charms around the motel. (He checked his feet too, and they’re perfectly healed.)

“Morning, princess!” he greets cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

Arthur makes a noncommittal noise. “How long…?”

“A little over twenty-four hours.” Merlin carefully sits on the edge of Arthur’s bed. “How are you feeling?” he asks, reaching a hand towards Arthur’s forehead.

“Fine. Better,” Arthur mumbles.

Merlin quickly takes his hand away before Arthur can realize it’s been there. “Well you don’t have a fever anymore, so that’s good.”

“I had a fever?”

“Just your body burning away the poison. With the help of magic of course.”

“Oh.” There’s a calm pause before Arthur’s eyes bug out and he sits up with the strength of a healthy Hunter. “ _Magic_?!” he cries.

Unfortunately, Arthur is not a healthy Hunter. His face immediately paled and he brings a hand to his head and his other one to his stomach. Merlin can only imagine the headache he's having.

“Don’t strain yourself. I don’t want to redress that wound _again_ ,” he says, not unkindly.

“You – you’re,” Arthur stutters, pointing a hand at Merlin. It doesn’t look very threatening, especially since his eyes were squinting through the pain. “You’re a witch! What did you do to me?”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin stands from the bed and tries to gently push Arthur back down, but he resisted. For a man who nearly died, he was quite strong. ‘Course that could be the Hunter in him fighting to remain in some sort of power.

“I am not a witch,” Merlin answers truthfully, taking a momentary break from getting Arthur to lie back down. “I told you before; I don’t know _what_ I am.”

_‘If you’re about to tell this bloke your life story like this is some romantic thriller movie, Merlin, I swear to–’_

“My mother was a witch though,” Merlin continues. He really isn’t in the mood to listen to Emrys. He was going through periods of mistrust and pity for the demon and right now he was in mistrust.

“I was my village’s physician-in-training. Gaius said I was really good and my eye to find the right herbs was practically perfect.” Merlin nudges Arthur in the shoulder, signifying that he should _really lie down right now_.

Arthur, finally giving up, allows Merlin to nudge him back down.

“Find the right herbs?” he repeats in confusion. “Doesn’t the bottle-thing say what’s in the pills already?”

Unable to hold back, Merlin laughs. It’s a nice sound, something he hasn’t done in a long time and he wishes to do again. “Yeah, it does, but I don’t mean that. Take me out to any wooded area and show me a patch of flowers, I can tell you exactly what they are and what they can be used for.”

“You know that no one does that anymore, right?”

“Yes, I know. Water?”

However, Arthur ignores the cup Merlin was handing to him. “You’re very strange.”

That made Merlin grin. “You have no idea.” He offeres the water again.

This time, Arthur takes it. Propping himself up on his elbow with only the smallest wince, Arthur drains the cup in seconds.

Handing the cup back again, Arthur says, “So enlighten me.”

Merlin’s brow furrows. “Enlighten you about what? My strangeness?” He moves to fill the cup with more sink water. Merlin can feel Arthur’s eyes watching him.

“If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve. You certainly had many chances.”

“And now you want me to tell you my whole life story?” Merlin asks with a frown, handing Arthur the cup of water. Arthur takes it, but only drinks a small sip before replying again.

“You’re running from those demons–”

“I’m not _running_ from Azazel and Alastair, I’m just–”

“Fine. You’re _avoiding_ those demons. I hunt demons and such for a living. We could work together. You obviously can come in pretty handy when it comes to healing or whatever,” Arthur says gesturing to his bound torso with a sincere look of gratitude. “So what do you say? Partners?” He holds out his hand, something of a kind smile on his face.

Merlin doesn’t like it. At all.

“This is only a ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ sort of thing isn’t it?”

Arthur’s eyes flash. His smile turns into more of a smirk. Deadly. Dangerous.

“I can see we already understand each other.”

Merlin doesn’t move yet. He weighs his options. Either he can take the motorcycle and leave now, knowing that Arthur still wouldn’t be able to follow him or he can shake Arthur’s hand, becoming an ally (of sorts) to a Hunter who’s only forming an allegiance to (most likely) find a very painful way to kill Merlin.

“We can part ways after it’s all done,” Arthur says, the smirk still on his face. (Merlin swears that some Hunters are just like demons, or worse. Vaguely, he wonders which category Arthur falls under.) “I’m assuming you want to stop Lucifer just as much as I do. You probably even know more information than me, seeing as how you were at their headquarters for God-only-knows how long. With my connections and your knowledge, we can stop this thing from going down and part ways without looking back.”

For a few more minutes, Merlin remains silent.

_‘What do you think, Emrys?’_

He can feel the demon thinking. _‘I think… Might as well. Even if he does turn on us, it won’t be until after we stop Lucifer, or after our use to him is finished. Either way, we’ll see it coming. And it’s not like we’re completely defenseless.’_

Emrys’ smile is just as vile and wicked as Arthur’s.

“Deal,” Merlin says, reaching to take the outstretched hand. Arthur’s grin widens, but Merlin doesn’t let go. “We won’t part ways like friends, Arthur,” he says calmly, knowingly. Tightening his grip Merlin continues, “Just so you’re aware: I’m watching my back.”

For a second, Arthur is still, but then he nods as if he half-expected this. “Allies doesn’t mean trust, right?” He chuckles. “Just so _you’re_ aware, I’ll be watching my back too.”

Merlin nods and releases Arthur’s hand. Part of him, the lonely, human part, wishes that he and Arthur could learn to trust each other, could become friends. The other part of him is Emrys, telling him that a Hunter and a demon (even a demon with their strange quandary) cannot be friends and cannot ever trust the other.

“So.” Arthur struggles to sit up. Merlin doesn’t move to help him, knowing his attempts would just be brushed away. Patting the area next to him, Arthur says, “Tell me all about yourself, Merlin. I’ll do the same.”

“You trust me not to lie?” Merlin asks, making his way around to the side of the bed.

“Of course not,” Arthur replies easily.

Merlin wonders if he actually should lie as he climbs onto the bed. Sitting atop the covers, waiting until Arthur painfully pulls himself up into his own sitting position, Merlin decides that, well, he has nothing to hide. And it’s not like he has anybody that can be used against him.

“I was born about 500 A.D.,” Merlin begins. “In a village called Ealdor.”

x~X~x 

How to describe Merlin’s life right now? Well, that answer isn’t very difficult to figure out.

His life is just _peachy_. It’s full of blood and running and research and a Hunter who hates his guts and it’s all just _peachy._

What is Merlin doing right now? Well, that answer isn’t difficult to figure out either.

Merlin and Arthur are running. _Again_.

“You Hunters sure do a lot of running,” Merlin huffs out.

“Shut up!” Arthur hisses back.

They’re running from a ghost. An angry ghost. A _really_ angry ghost, and, whilst on the subject of ghosts, Merlin has a question: Who in their right mind even lets someone die with a fucking machete within reach!? Honestly, can’t people be more thoughtful and considerate toward the Hunters (and Merlin) who are going to kill the damn thing? And, _of course_ , the ghost wants nothing more than to take the heads off unsuspecting people, and _of course_ it’s been doing just that since it died about twenty years ago.

So, yes. If you asked him, Merlin would say his life was just _peachy_.

(Did he mention he’s doing all this with a Hunter who hates his entire being to the point of literal disgust as a partner? If he has, Merlin wants to just mention it again.)

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with Lucifer,” Merlin grumbles when they finally stop running.

“Be quiet!” is the only response he gets. Arthur peeks out from behind the wall before quickly hiding again. “I don’t see him.”

“Of course not. He’s a _ghost_ , Arthur. He can turn invisible.”

Arthur glares. “I know that! Now be quiet. He’ll–”

That’s when the ghost appeared in front of them. It nearly impales Merlin with the machete – which Merlin still isn’t sure how that’s possible considering it’s a ghost machete, but he digresses. Because of Emrys’ demonic powers, Merlin manages to move just in time, landing painfully onto a rotting (now broken) table. No help from Arthur, of course. Merlin never expected it anyway.

There was a loud bang and when Merlin turns around, he realizes Arthur had shot the ghost with his salt rifle. He was lying on the ground, the ghost was nowhere in sight.

“Let me guess,” Merlin pants. “Be quiet or else he’ll hear us?”

Arthur sneers. “Shut up, demon.” He gets up and begins rummaging around the house, just like they were previously doing.

“You know that’s not really accurate,” Merlin says, wiping the dust off his pants. “And it’s not much of an insult.”

(Lie. It hurts.)

“Just help me find the damn thing keeping it here,” Arthur growls.

Sighing, Merlin begins looking for the golf ball. (Honestly, who attaches themselves to a _golf ball_?)

Two weeks, four days, and 16 hours. How much longer will Merlin have to endure this?

“Ah-ha!” Arthur shouts. “Found it! Where’s my lighter?”

Merlin hands Arthur the cigarette lighter. He doesn’t get a ‘thank you’. Not even a mumbled _thanks_

x~X~x

“Vampire nest?” Merlin echoes. “In Glasglow? But Arthur, that’s two days–”

“Don’t argue with me, Merlin,” the Hunter says. His expression is cold, hard. “We’re going.”

Merlin grits his teeth, but doesn’t argue further. It’s been three months now and Merlin knows exactly where Arthur stands. When it comes to the people –oh, pardon, Merlin means when it comes to _human_ people– Arthur is one of the kindest, gentlest souls Merlin has ever encountered. He talks softly with bright, genuine smiles. Then Arthur will turn around and look at Merlin like he’s Arthur’s next hunt. He probably is. Merlin waits for the day when Arthur backstabs him, either by trying to exorcise him or tricking him in another demon’s trap and leaving him there.

“Okay,” Merlin says. “Whatever you say.” He gets in the car and Arthur follows.

Merlin misses the motorcycle. He knows it’s really impractical – two guys can’t ride a motorcycle around to hunts, especially when one of them was thoroughly terrified of the thing, but Merlin had to hold onto Arthur, which is pretty much the closest he’s ever gotten to the Hunter without Arthur sneering at him. It was the closest he’s ever gotten to a human, discounting Freya. (And Merlin discounts her a lot; there was something about her that was different. She was definitely a human, but her soul could’ve been one of an angel’s. Merlin still isn’t sure how they ever managed to find each other, let alone _love_ the other.) At least the car’s not _too_ terrible. Though, Arthur was thoroughly pissed when he had to sell the bike in order to afford the car. _That_ was a terrible day. Terrible week actually.

They drive in silence for two hours before Arthur speaks up.

“Merlin, I haven’t forgotten about Alastair and Azazel.”

Merlin turns to look at the Hunter. He looks tired. Weary. Angry. Merlin still doesn’t know his past (the prat only tell lies, but it’s not like Merlin blames him) except for the fact he has a father and sister, but that was only because Azazel had mentioned them. Whatever else was in Arthur’s history, Merlin only knew it had some sort of connection with the two demons.

“I know Arthur,” Merlin responds quietly. “You just want to help everyone you can while you can. You don’t want to abandon your people."

“They’re not _my_ people, Merlin.” Arthur speaks in that ‘high and mighty’ tone Merlin thinks would have been perfect if Arthur had been born as a (rude, arrogant, insufferable) prince.

“But that’s how you see them. You have to protect those that can’t protect themselves.”

Despite driving, Arthur looks over at Merlin, his face guarded but not as steeling and cold and it usually is.

Staring straight ahead, yet very aware of the Hunter’s eyes on him, Merlin continues, “It’s not like we have that much on Alastair and Azazel, and it’s not like we aren’t looking because we are, so going to help those who can’t defend themselves isn’t like we’re abandoning our original mission.”

After waiting a few seconds and still feeling Arthur’s eyes, Merlin risks a glance at the Hunter and he nearly jumps when he realizes Arthur was completely staring at him, face in total relaxation . Arthur’s looking at him (looking at _him!)_ like Merlin was any other human. Merlin wouldn’t have minded staying like that for eternity. Unfortunately –

“Arthur, the car!"

Arthur curses and swivels out of the way. The neighboring car’s honk is loud and long. When Merlin looks at Arthur again, once the other car stops his horn, the mask is back in its place. There’s a small twinge in Merlin’s gut. 

“ _Mission_ ,” Arthur repeats. He rolls his eyes. “We’re not spies, Merlin. Bloody hell.”

“Whatever, you pat.” But Merlin holds onto the image of Arthur looking at him. _Him_. Not a demon, not a creature, not his next hunt. Just Merlin. Looking at Merlin.

 _‘You’re going soft, Merlin.’_ Emrys says quietly.

_‘Is it really that bad that I want to be friends with him?’_

Emrys doesn’t answer.

 x~X~x 

Merlin walks up and down the snack aisle, trying to figure out if he’s left anything behind. He hates food that comes from the petrol station, but Arthur refuses to eat in dinners unless they’re on a hunt or there’s not station in sight.

“Planning a Christmas dinner in the middle of summer?” the cashier asks. His tone is teasing and there’s a smile on his face. Merlin decides he likes the man. Not only does he talk to Merlin like he was a human being (not that the cashier would know about his situation anyway), but he’s being genuinely kind to Merlin. Teasing him a little, like they’d been friends for a long time. (He’d even greeted Merlin like they were old mates: _“Hey there! Welcome to my little corner of the world. Need any help? Well, just holler for me if you do, blue eyes.”_ ) Merlin misses that. Friendship. The closest thing to it he has is with Arthur, and that’s not even close at all.

Grinning, Merlin replies, “Something like that.”

(Also, he’s attractive and in shape and has a beautiful, not killer, smile.)

“You might want some more arms though,” the attractive cashier laughingly says when a bag of crisps falls out of Merlin’s arms. He bends down to pick up the crisps, lingering just long enough for Merlin to imagine what would happen if this were a totally different environment. No food in his arms, no Arthur waiting for him, no petrol station. Just Merlin and this man. This man on his knees, right in front of him, reaching for Merlin’s –

“Here you go,” the man hands back the bag. He’s standing now.

Fighting back a blush, Merlin mumbles, “Thanks.”

“Why don’t I put these in a bag already?” the cashier asks. “That way you’ll be able to carry more.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. The name’s Merlin.”

“Gwaine,” the cashier replies with a smile. “You and that bloke going on a road trip?”

“A _long_ road trip,” Merlin nods.

Gwaine looks out the window, watching Arthur fill up the gas.

“Boyfriend?” Gwaine asks.

For a moment, Merlin thought he was talking to someone else, but then Merlin remembered that no one else was in the station. “What? No.”

“You sure? ‘Cuz he looks like he’s about to kill me just for talking to you.”

“Oh.” Merlin looks over at Arthur, who was now walking up toward the door. Correction: _storming_ up to the door. Merlin can practically see the steam billowing out of his ears. 

“What’s going on here?” Arthur demands.

“Your boyfriend and I were having a lovely conversation,” Gwaine replies easily, ringing up the food. “He’s quite nice.”

Arthur stutters, his anger completing dissipating and his face morphing into a perfect ‘deer in the headlights’ look. “He – He is _not_ my boyfriend.”

Merlin wishes Arthur didn’t sound so disgusted. It’s been four, almost five, months. Did he still have to act like Merlin wasn’t human?

 _‘You’re not, though,’_ Emrys whispers. He goes quiet again after that; he said he’s been searching for answers, but how he does that while still inside (more or less) Merlin, Merlin has no idea. He’s not entirely sure what ‘ _answers_ ’even means.

“Hmm.” Gwaine’s eyes dart back and forth between Arthur and Merlin. “That’s too bad,” he says, the easy smile turns predatorily. Winking, he hands Merlin a card, “This is my number. Call me if you want to leave princess prat over there.”

“ _Excuse me_?!”

“And,” Gwaine continues, ignoring Arthur’s outburst, “I will charge you nothing for these. It’s on the house for a handsome thing like you putting up with him for God-only-knows how long.”

“Oh.” Merlin’s reeling. Nothing like this ever happens to him. Emrys maybe, but him? Never. “Um, thank you?”

Gwaine laughs. “No problem.” Then he leans over the counter, gently grabs Merlin’s chin and seals his lips over Merlin’s. But this is not a small peck on the lips. Not even a smidgen of innocence was in this kiss. This was an open-mouthed, tongue-twirling, dirty, filthy, fucking erotic kiss. It’s so different from Freya’s kisses, which were shy and much more innocent. (Not that Merlin didn’t like them – he enjoyed Freya’s innocent, tender kisses. They melted the memories he didn’t wish to remember.) And they were nothing like the kisses he would see Arthur throw away to any girl with big boobs. (Well, there was that one guy…but they’d been on a case and he _did_ seem quite feminine, and – _fucking hell_! Why is Merlin thinking about _Arthur_ right now??)

When Gwaine pulls back, Merlin’s face is completely red and his lips tingle. Part of him wants to throw himself onto Gwaine, another part wants to just stay there and stare at the man, while another part wants to leave as soon as possible and go back into the safe confines of Arthur’s car (which, right there, should’ve been a sure sign that Merlin should’ve thrown himself all over that gorgeous man – it’s too bad Merlin’s too shocked to move).

“I’ll be waiting for that call.” Gwaine winks and Merlin’s sure he made some sort of noise, but he’s not positive. He’s not quite positive about anything right now.

Somehow, Merlin manages to make it to the car, and it isn’t until the petrol station is long behind him that he comes to his senses.

“That was…” Merlin doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.

“Rude,” Arthur answers. “The word you’re looking for is _rude_. I mean, who the fuck kisses someone they don’t even know?!”

“…You do that with girls all the time,” Merlin points out quietly.

Arthur’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “That’s different.”

Merlin didn’t see how it’s different, but he makes no comment.

“Are you going to call him?” Arthur asks. He glares at the road like it was Alastair and Azazel themselves, and if looks could kill, Alastair and Azazel wouldn’t be anything more than singes marring the freshly-paved road.

“…No,” Merlin answers slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“Really?” Arthur glances at him. He sounded genuinely interested.

“Well…we’re not really going to be near him anymore, are we? And it’s not like he can come to us or anything…”

“Yes, exactly,” Arthur agrees, though Merlin felt like Arthur was agreeing to something else entirely.

Arthur puts on some music and starts humming along to it. For the first time since this had started, Merlin dares to think that they might actually be becoming something like friends.

…But then, three days later, Merlin finds himself alone in a motel room. Arthur had stormed out about an hour ago, fuming. It hadn’t been Merlin’s fault that the girl died, but Arthur needed to blame someone, and why he didn’t blame the werewolf who ripped her throat out was beyond Merlin.

 _“If you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have needed to worry about you and I could’ve gotten to the girl just fine!”_ Arthur had shouted. When Merlin had pointed out that he never seemed like he cared about Merlin’s safety before, Arthur left. Didn’t say anything, just left. 

Now, all Merlin could think about was Arthur yelling at him and Arthur going to a bar to pick up some sleazy girl. Merlin is so confused; he thought Arthur was actually starting to think of him as a person, a human. But after tonight… And Merlin’s not even sure what he did!

Merlin needs a distraction, something to take his mind away from Arthur and Hunters and demons.

He picks up the motel phone and dials Gwaine.

x~X~x 

Two weeks (four days, five hours, and thirty-seven minutes) later, Merlin finds himself leaning against the car staring at the clear blue sky. It’s beautiful. People walk by him and some of them smile. A few, both men and women, wink. Merlin smiles back at each one until a particularly beautiful girl with bouncy brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a smile that looked too painfully like Freya’s cast a glance his way. Merlin has to look at the ground after that. It wouldn’t do for Arthur to see him cry.

(Sometimes it hits him, just like now, how much he truly did love Freya. How much he wanted to be with her and have that normal, simply, sweet life. How much he _wanted_.)

 _‘Found anything?’_ he asks, desperate to keep his mind off of her.

It takes a few minutes before any reply can be heard. _‘Maybe. Possibly. I need more time.’_

_‘What is it?’_

_‘I told you; I need more time.’_

_‘Well, what do you_ think _it is?’_

But this time, Emrys didn’t say a word.

Merlin sighs. He’s unsure of how he feels about Emrys ‘looking’ for answers. He can still feel the demon, knows he’s still inside of him, but there’s something…different. Emrys isn’t pushed back into a corner of Merlin’s mind like he was when Merlin was with Freya or like Merlin was when Emrys was in control. Emrys is just…sharing the space with Merlin?

…No, that doesn’t sound right either.

It’s on the tip of Merlin’s tongue, what exactly this strange relationship/body-sharing-thing he and Emrys have going on when Arthur walked out of the police building.

“Well?” Merlin prompts.

Arthur shakes his head. “It’s weird, but now _our_ -weird.”

“So then where now?”

“There might be a haunting a few hours North,” Arthur says, his tone implying it’s more of a question then a statement.

Merlin grins. “Then let’s check it out.”

A very small, reluctant smile appears on Arthur’s face. “Yeah, okay.”

Arthur brushes shoulders against Merlin on his way to the other side of the car. Merlin has no idea what to make of it so he pretends nothing happened.

“Can we at least stop for some chips, Arthur? I’m starving.”

“I asked you before and you said you weren’t hungry!”

“Not then, but I am now.”

“Idiot.”

“Prat." 

x~X~x 

“I see you’ve got yourself in some trouble,” Arthur smirks.

“Yes, very funny.” Merlin crosses his arms. “You ganna let me out?”

“Maybe I’ll keep you in here. Being trapped suits you.”

“Arthur,” Merlin hisses. “We are in the den of a Hunter who’s gone completely bonkers and wants to kill everything in sight. That means you too. Get me out of here!”

Arthur shrugs, unconcerned. “He left about ten minutes ago. Shouldn’t be back for a couple hours. I think you can stay stuck in there for a little longer.”

Merlin clenches his jaw, but before he could say anything else, the sharp sound of a ringing mobile pierced the air.

“What is–? Merlin?!”

Merlin glances up and savors the look of complete shock on the Hunter’s face.

“What? It’s just a mobile.” Merlin places the phone to his ear. “Hey Gwaine.”

“Gwaine?” Arthur repeats. “ _Gwaine_? Gwaine from the _petrol_ station?” He barely left enough time for Merlin to answer before he was talking again. “And when did you get a mobile?! How are you paying for it?”

“Yes, Gwaine from the petrol station,” Merlin answers. Then, into the phone, said, “Hmm? Oh, it’s just Arthur.

“No, no I’ve got time. What’s up?”

“But that was two months ago!” Arthur shouts.

“Yes, and I’ve been talking to him for two months.”

“What, are you his boyfriend now?” There was something in his voice. Merlin can’t detect what it is, but there’s something off about his voice. Arthur’s not just angry or surprised. He’s… Jealous?

“Of course not,” Merlin scoffs. “He’s dating this girl now.

“Oh. And her brother.” Merlin tilts his head into the phone, signaling he isn’t talking to Arthur anymore. “Really Gwaine? That will not end well for you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin watches Arthur bunch his fists. His face red in anger.

“Yeah, I remember that,” Merlin answers Gwaine. He keeps glancing at Arthur, but the Hunter was glaring at the bookshelf like it personally offended him. “You said the purple didn’t leave your hair for weeks.”

A few minutes go by, and Arthur is still glowering at the bookshelf. Merlin continues talking on the phone to Gwaine (albeit a bit distractively) when abruptly, Arthur straightens up and scans the room. Merlin put a hand over the phone’s receiver. He strains to hear the noise that caused Arthur to go into immediate Hunter-mode.

 _“What is it?”_ Merlin mouths.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. The intensity in which Arthur is straining to hear was nearly audible.

“Gwaine,” Merlin whispers. “I’ve got to go.” Merlin cuts off Gwaine’s disappointed answer.

Merlin and Arthur stand in silence for a solid five minutes.

A sharp _CREAK_ coming from the outside door was the only warning the pair received before a large shape charges in and tackles Arthur.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouts, pounding against the barrier. The two Hunters wrestle against the floor, neither one allowing the other to stand, but soon, the crazy Hunter had Arthur pinned face-down. He raises Arthur’s head and slams it into the ground before unsheathing his knife. Merlin feels his eyes go black.

“Don’t you touch him!” he shouts.

The Hunter looks up, his eyes wild and unfocused. “Don’t worry you’ll get your turn soon. I love skinning demons.”

Fortunately, it was the distraction Arthur needed. He wriggles out of the Hunter’s hold and dashes toward the pentagram. The Hunter grabs at Arthur’s foot, causing him to fall painfully to the floor, but Arthur’s own knife was already out and he made a quick slash at one of the lines.

Merlin steps out, takes hold of the Hunter’s lapels, and flings him across the room. He lands on his desk, crumbling the wood and denting the wall. Papers are flying everywhere.

The Hunter groaned and moved to stand up, but Arthur was already there with his Pistol – a Semi-Automatic, Umarex|Regent Pistol with a Matte black slide and a stainless frame as Arthur will constantly remind Merlin.

“Don’t even think about it,” Arthur warns. A trickle of blood slides off his face and his shoulder looks awfully wrenched, but he ignores it. Ever the stoic Hunter. “Everyone says you’ve gone mad…but I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”

Merlin gives Arthur a confused look because just an hour ago, Arthur had been whining about the Hunter who’d gone “off his rocker” and “why the hell did he need to take care of it” because “there are so many other damn Hunters who could do this easy job.”

“Careful,” the Hunter says dryly. “People might think _you’re_ crazy too if you say that.”

“Maybe.” Arthur glances at Merlin, but it’s brief and strange and Merlin isn’t totally sure what to make of it. “Or maybe I’m already mad.”

“Well you _are_ working with a demon,” the Hunter answers, chuckling with no humor.

“Oh, that’s not what I meant.” Arthur shrugs nonchalantly. “But if that’s what helps you sleep better at night, sure.”

Now the Hunter appears confused. And a little worried. “What do you want?” he asks wearily.

Arthur nods. “Yes, that’s the right question. I want information.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“I want specific information. Very specific.”

“We do?” Merlin asks, but, to his dismay, he was completely ignored.

The Hunter stays silent, staring at Arthur as though he can see his soul. “How specific are we talking?”

“I’ve heard rumors. Something was made, a long time ago. Something that can kill anything supernatural. Anything.”

Merlin has never heard of such a weapon, but he remains silent.

“Ah. That kind of information,” the Hunter says, smiling shrewdly.

“Yes. Where can I get it?” Arthur presses the gun into the Hunter’s forehead.

“There’s a crossroad’s demon. That’s where I get everything I need to know.”

“Where is it?”

x~X~x 

A week later, Merlin and Arthur finally find their lead. 

“I don’t know anything! Please! Please let me go!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Look. I know you’re lying. Make it easier on all of us and just tell us what we want to know." 

The woman sobs harder. “No, please. Please, let me go!”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers.

“If you’re about to tell me that maybe we’ve got the wrong guy–”

“I’m not,” Merlin interrupts quickly. “Trust me, we’ve got the right demon.”

Arthur pauses. He turns to face Merlin. “How can you tell?”

“I can see her true face.”

The woman finally stops crying. The makeup runs down the woman’s face, but her eyes are no longer bloodshot. Now, she looked like a true demon.

“You can?” Arthur asks, sounding honestly intrigued, but the demon starts speaking and Arthur takes his gaze off of Merlin.

“I take it your Emrys then.” She tosses her head back, effectively realigning the loose strands of hair back into pristine position. “I didn’t want to believe it. Believe that the once mighty Knight of Hell had been brought down to such a _human_ –” she spits out the word in almost the same way Arthur does when he’s talking about demons “–level. Yet here you are.”

Pausing, the demon glances between Merlin and Arthur, her eyes sparking with something that looked eerily similar to lust. “And you’re working with a Hunter. How…delicious. 

Unconsciously, Merlin feels his eyes turn black. “I’d be more careful with your words. You’re nothing more than a crossroad demon. A useful one, but not for much longer.”

Merlin can feel Arthur’s eyes watching him, but he doesn’t dare turn around. They’ve just developed some sort of mutual, friendly relationship. More than collogues –well, _allies_ in this case– and toeing at the ‘sort of friends’ line. If Merlin turns around now, Arthur might just remember how much he hates demons.

“Are you going to speak, or do we just have to kill you instead?” Arthur’s voice surprises Merlin, especially when he walks to stand right beside him. “Because I have an exorcism ready and waiting to use on you, bitch.”

The demon sneers. “You think I’m frightened of you? A puny Hunter and a disgraced demon? There is nothing frightening about you two. I mean, your own sister abandoned you. Left you with your _father_. And you, you aren’t even a real demon. You’re just the pathetic meat suit that Emrys just picked. You couldn’t save your mom; you couldn’t even save that girl you loved. You’re just a walking, talking piece of feeble _meat_.”

When the demon talked about Arthur family, Merlin feels something coiling inside him. At the mention of his mother and Freya, that ‘something’ snapped. It physically hurts Merlin to think about them, and this demon, this _creature_ , thinks she could just causally mention them as if they meant nothing? She thinks she could affront Merlin? Affront _Arthur_?

She starts screaming.

Arthur steps back, his angered and pained face morphing into confusion and shock. “What–?”

The demon stops screaming. She slumps against the chair – beads of sweat glisten on her skin as she desperately gasps for breath in choked-off spams, limbs shaking, muscles twitching. Merlin takes a step forward.

“You dare insult me? Insult my _family_? Insult _Arthur_?”

(Something isn’t right, Merlin can feel it. Something is not right.)

Merlin takes another step forward, the hatred in his eyes beguiling his calm appearance. “I am very frightening,” he whispers, his voice low and deep.

The body convulses again and the demon gasps, her eyes wide as blood-stained tears slide down her cheeks. More blood trickles out of her nose.

“Okay, okay!” She pants. The demon’s entire body won’t stop shaking as she reveals, “Ilchester, they’re in Ilchester!”

“Where?” Merlin asks harshly, not recalling a place called ‘Ilchester’ anywhere in Europe. “Don’t lie to me.”

Something inside Merlin contracts again and the demon gasps, jerking as if she’d had an electric volt course through her.

“America!” she screams. This time, bruises start appearing on her body. “Ilchester, Maryland! That’s where he is!”

A deep growl echoes from low in Merlin’s throat. “ _Lucifer_ ,” he hisses.

(wrong wrong wrong wrong why is it wrong something is wrong)

“Yes, yes,” she agrees readily.

Merlin, however, isn’t satisfied. “What else?” When the woman doesn’t answer immediately, there’s another spasm in Merlin’s gut.

The demon screams and her body jerks, as if it’s trying to curl into itself, but the bonds refrain her from doing so.

“Lilith,” she answers, her voice wracked with pain. “Lilith needs to–”

“Break sixty-six seals,” Merlin finishes. He shakes his head in both anger and shame. How could he have forgotten such vital information? “Of course. Of course. _Lilith_.”

( _help please arthur something’s wrong please help everything is wrong help_ )

For a few minutes there’s absolute silence, only broken by the demon’s harsh breathing. Arthur has been so quiet, Merlin nearly forgot about him. Nearly. Then the demon makes a choking sound that could’ve been a laugh if she still wasn’t in so much obvious pain.

“You can’t do it,” the demon whispers.

There’s a brief pause before Merlin’s voice –cold as ice, hard as steel– asks, “Excuse me?”

“You can’t do it,” she repeats. Her face contorts into something that resembles smugness, but there’s too much pain to read it clearly. “You’ll need something to destroy her. The only thing ever created that can kill a demon.”

Merlin leans in closer, still careful of touching the pentagram on the floor. “And what would that be?”

“You think I’ll tell you?”

“Oh no. That’s an absurd idea.” Merlin chuckles with cold humor. “I don’t _think_ you’ll tell me.” He pauses. Smirks.

“I _know_ you will.”

Once again, his gut contracts in that now-familiar pull. The she-demon’s face screws up in pain, but she doesn’t scream just yet. Merlin’s waiting for the right moment.

“You’ll tell me whatever I–” Merlin breaks off in a gasp. Whatever he was about to say disappeared as sheer agony penetrates his entire being.

Gasping, Merlin stumbles back. He trips over his feet, crashing to the ground painfully. Merlin curls in on himself as much as he could as his body can, staring wide-eyed at the demon.

(what’s happening? how did he get on the floor? did arthur call his name? what’s going on?)

“Oh, no,” Merlin whispers. His throat is too dry, his head is trying to explode, his arms won’t stop shaking.

Merlin is absolutely terrified.

Now, it’s the demon’s turn to laugh. She holds nothing back. “I see you and your meat suit are having a bit of problems, Emrys,” she cackles.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin can see Arthur standing still, looking cautiously between Merlin and the demon.

The demon watches Merlin writhe for a few moments before the bindings break, freeing her. She stands up, looking triumphant and sinister.

“That’s much better. Thank you, Mistress.”

She stretched, making a show of it. “Oh, and by the way, I’m _not_ some low-level crossroads demon. I am Lilith’s right-hand demon.” She leans down and lifts Merlin’s head, forcing him to stand back up and look into her eyes. “The name’s _Ruby_ , bitch. Don’t forget it.”

Ruby grins, disappearing in a howling tornado of books and wind and glass and anything else that’s lying around in the abandoned house soon after.

As soon as her power can no longer be felt, Merlin sways. He barely hears (imagines?) Arthur’s cry of “Merlin!” before the blackness overtakes him.

x~X~x

Two and a half weeks after the incident they are no closer to finding the gun –because that’s what the weapon is according to a real crossroads demon, who didn’t live much longer after his revelation; apparently, that was all he knew– and neither is Merlin any closer to talking.

Ever since Merlin awoke in a motel room with a concerned and confused Arthur (obviously Merlin had hallucinated the _concerned_ part) staring at him, Merlin had become incredibly withdrawn. In the eighteen days they’ve spent together, less than ten words had been spoken from Merlin’s mouth.

He texts Gwaine constantly, needing some sort of human contact without actually speaking to get it. (And when he texts Gwaine, it’s about human, mundane things that Merlin desperately needs to hear, even if it’s Gwaine’s latest pull in excoriating detail.) When Arthur asks who he’s texting, Merlin shrugs; when Arthur asks (accuses) if it’s Gwaine, Merlin shakes his head and puts the phone away. He only feels half-bad that he’s causing some poor sod to have a telephone bill higher than Mt. Everest since he’s texting Gwaine from overseas. Only half-bad.

“Merlin, just say _something_ ,” Arthur says for the untempt time. For the untempt time, Merlin ignores him and stares out at the wrong side of the road.

After flying to New York and taking a week to learn how to drive the wrong way (“Bloody Americans!” Arthur had cursed numerous times, mostly with much more expletives and car-kicking) Arthur felt comfortable enough steering the car.

It’s on the eighteenth day mark since Merlin woke up that Arthur adds another part.

“…Please?”

That isn’t something Merlin had ever been expecting. He swallows nervously, wondering what he was supposed to say to this. His throat feels dry; he hasn’t had anything to drink or eat for days. (Well, actually he hasn’t wanted to drink or eat anything for days.) Merlin keeps waiting for Arthur to realize that Merlin is a monster that needs to be put down before anything like _the incident_ ever happens again.

“Like what?” he asks. It’s quiet, scratchy. Merlin doesn’t want to speak again. He wants to throw up.

“ _Anything_. Tell me what happened.”

If Merlin didn’t know any better, he’d say that Arthur was pleading with him. Unfortunately, he does know better. The only time he’s ever heard Arthur plead with someone was when a young boy had been about to take his life after witnessing his mother, father, younger brother, and twin sister murdered by demons.

“I don’t want to.” Merlin curls up tighter. An hour ago he wouldn’t have thought his legs could be tucked any farther into his body. He’s wrong.

The car slows down. It stops.

“Merlin, I’m not moving another meter until you say something.”

“Something.”

“Don’t be cheeky. Speak.”

Silence. Except for the sound of cars whooshing past, no sound is emitted from inside the red Mazda3 – which they didn’t steal; they only _borrowed_ for an undisclosed amount of time.

True to his word, Arthur doesn’t move the car.

Nearly an hour goes by –and Merlin knows this because he’s been staring at the clock ever since they stopped– before he finally decides to give in. Sighing, Merlin begins talking. “I think,” he started quietly. “I think we’re…becoming one.”

“We’re? Who?”

“…Emrys and I.”

“Emrys,” Arthur repeats. “You’ve mentioned him before. Is that…the demon that possessed you?”

Merlin’s too scared to be surprised. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Does that… So then you…” Arthur swallows. “All of that, back at the motel that first day. That was the truth? You told me the truth?”

“Yes.”

“So you really were born two-thousand years ago?” There’s something about Arthur’s voice that sounds…off. If Merlin were being honest, he would say Arthur sounded awed and compassionate and a whole bunch of other emotions that were obviously not really there.

“One-thousand five-hundred thirteen years, give or take,” Merlin murmurs.

“And everything else? _Everything_ you said was completely true?”

“I told you. Yes.”

There’s silence and Merlin prepares himself for…something. A gunshot, a knife. Something. Arthur knows now. He knows the truth and he knows it’s the truth and he’d going to kill Merlin before everything gets worse. Merlin and Emrys are becoming one being – a monster.

A slam jerks Merlin into looking up. Arthur is no longer in the driver’s seat, but before Merlin can wonder where he went, his door opens. There is Arthur. He leans in toward Merlin, kneeling down awkwardly and trying not to hit his head on the ceiling.

“Arthur, what are–?” Merlin starts to ask, terrified of what was about to happen.

He knew he deserves it. Whatever is coming, he deserves every second of it…but that doesn’t mean he wants to die. He _wants_ to live even if he shouldn’t. A monster shouldn’t be allowed to keep breathing. He deserves what’s coming to him. He deserves…

A hug.

Arthur is hugging him. He is _hugging_ him.

Hugging _him_.

The warmth of another human being feels so alien, so strange, especially coming from Arthur, and Merlin doesn’t know what to do. He’s too stunned to even gape; all that could be known of his surprise were slightly widened pupils and a jaw that fell barely half a centimeter.

“God, Merlin how are you keeping it together?” Arthur whispers. “You’ve been fucking _possessed_ for so many fucking years and you still manage to think about others and do other selfless shit. Bloody hell, Merlin. You’re like some sort of miracle. And I thought _my_ life was awful.”

When Arthur starts rubbing his hand over his back, Merlin just loses it. He flings his arms around Arthur and cries. He didn’t realize he’d needed to until now, but once the first tear fell, it was like a waterfall and Merlin just couldn’t stop. Everything he had been unconsciously holding in –his emotions, his memories, his fears– everything just came out. (Because even when he was telling Arthur his life story, he’d left out the gruesome bits and the emotions he’d felt. He had told Arthur his life like he was narrating someone else’s. Now, all he can do is _feel_ and it hurts. It fucking hurts like hell, and unfortunately, Merlin knows how that feels like and it doesn’t help stop the flow of tears.)

Merlin clutches onto Arthur much in the same way he did when he first rode that motorcycle: frightened, alarmed, scared shitless of the future; and Arthur, in turn, tightens his own grip on Merlin, never ceasing to soothingly stroke Merlin’s back. Cars continue to rush by, but Merlin can’t hear them anymore; all he hears is Arthur comforting tone 

What seemed like years later, though it couldn’t have been over an hour, Merlin slowly extracts himself from Arthur. He notices then that his knees were cramping up from still being tucked in, but, to his utter embarrassment, he discovers he’s practically sitting in Arthur’s lap. The Hunter sits in the car seat, his knees and legs pointed out towards the open door while Merlin is more or less wrapped around him with his back facing the open door, his butt smooshed between Arthur’s hip and the seat’s back, and his knees resting behind Arthur’s back.

Drying his eyes, Merlin whispers, “Sorry.”

_Sorry for sobbing on you. Sorry for everything I put you through. Sorry for being possessed. Sorry for ruining the interrogation with the demon. Sorry for not finding the weapon. Sorry for needing a hug. Sorry for liking it and wanting more. I’m sorry._

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Arthur says. He sounds like he knew everything that Merlin was apologizing for. “I’m sorry for being such a prat in the beginning.”

That chokes out a laugh from Merlin. “So you admit you were being a prat?”

Arthur narrows his eyes playfully, but before he can say a word, the sound of a police siren echoes loud and clear. Both of them jump.

“Everything okay here?” a man asks. He’s wearing a police uniform. Merlin turns his head and wipes his eyes; he doesn’t want to have anyone else see him crying.

“Oh, yes,” Arthur says quickly in an uncanny interpretation of an American. “Just needed a break from the road, you know?”

The officer eyes Merlin, whose eyes, Merlin’s pretty sure, are still red. “Uh, yes. Of course,” the man replies, his tone softening. “Just, hurry up back on the road. Find a hotel. Get some sleep." 

“Sure thing, officer!” Arthur calls out. As soon as the car is gone, Arthur breathes out a sigh of relief and, with his normal accent back in place, says, “So glad he didn’t ask for my license or anything.”

Merlin laughs. He can’t help it, and he isn’t sure what was so comical about the situation, but his body just starts laughing and his brain can’t get it to stop. He only laughs harder when Arthur joins in.

“You’ve got a rubbish American accent,” Merlin says between each gasp for air.

“It’s perfect and you know it,” Arthur replies back, grinning like a mad man.

“…Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Merlin concedes. “For a chimpanzee.”

There’s a moment of silence before they both burst out laughing once again. It takes several long minutes, but they finally calm themselves enough to get back on the road. When Arthur turns on the radio, scanning for a decent song, they find themselves animatedly chatting away, complaining that the current generation has horrible taste in music and what should be considered “good tunes” instead.

This time, they drive off as friends.

x~X~x 

Merlin doesn’t trust Rufus.

It isn’t because the man is shady or possibly demon-possessed. No, he’s the perfect Hunter – precise, meticulous, observant. The perfect predator.

And that’s what scared Merlin.

Right from the start, Merlin and Arthur decided that no one else –victim, Hunter, pedestrian, officer of the law, and the like– should know of Merlin’s… _predicament_ , but after the car incident –and Merlin will forever remember it as both the most embarrassing and the best day in his life– they _knew_ they had to keep it secret. It’s no longer a case of Arthur wanting to keep an eye on Merlin because he didn’t a) trust the walking meat suit and b) want anyone else to get information from him; now, Arthur wants to keep an eye on Merlin because he’s concerned (not scared or worried or anything, you know, stupid and girly like that; simply _concerned_ ) for his friend’s safety.

Though Arthur would, of course, never admit this. Especially the ‘friend’ part. Merlin doesn’t need to know that.

Occasionally, Arthur would ask Merlin if Emrys had discovered any leads or found any answers. He would say it with a pleasant grimace. It was as though he tasted some strange, foreign food that he found positively disgusting, but didn’t want to hurt Merlin’s feelings by not eating it. Unfortunately, Merlin would always tell him, _‘No’_. After the fifth time, Arthur managed to trick Merlin into admitting that Emrys’ voice was becoming softer and softer; that more memories and feelings were fusing with Merlin’s subconscious that he knew didn’t belong to him.

That was, more or less, how the duo found Rufus. They were discussing Emrys at a local bar in Winchester, Virginia. Seating in the far corner, no one should’ve been able to see them clearly, let alone hear them, but their lives can’t ever be easy, can it?

Rufus Turner walks into the bar, grabs a beer, and heads right towards them. At first, he looks slightly startled to see two strangers sitting in –as Merlin and Arthur found out soon later– his seat. Recovering quickly, the man takes the nearest table and waits a few minutes before introducing himself as a fellow Hunter, demanding in the pleasant, if-you-don’t-share-we’ll-become-enemies-and-you-really-don’t-want-that Hunter way. Arthur, who’s reluctant, but more ready to trust the man than Merlin, slowly begins sharing the story, which turns into them spending the next four and a half hours discussing not only Emrys, but all the Knights of Hell (how Rufus knows that about him –shit, he means how he knows about _Emrys–_ Merlin won’t ever, and doesn’t want to ever, know), what’s been happening in the States, including any stranger-than-usual-and-I’m-a-Hunter-so-that’s-pretty-damn-strange things, and how to stop Alistair and Azazel.

But the key point in all this is that Merlin doesn’t trust Rufus.

His mistrust isn’t unwarranted.

Three weeks after they met Rufus (five weeks and four days after arriving in America; eight years, seven months, nine weeks, and thirty-six days after the Deal), the three of them are working on a case. It isn’t the first case they worked together, but it was the one that went completely and utterly wrong.

“The Djinn went that way!” Arthur calls out. He runs after the creature, Merlin and Rufus right on his heels.

“We’ll barricade him!” Rufus shouts. “Keep going straight, Arthur! Merlin, follow me!”

That was the worst mistake of Merlin’s life.

Oh, they capture the Djinn no sweat. It’s afterward, when they discover that the Djinn had been working with a witch, that Merlin knew he was in danger.

“NOO!” she shouts. With a splay of her hand, Merlin is sent flying. He breaks through a crumbling brick wall, but doesn’t stop until he hit cement, which is just a little less than fifty meters away from where he’d been originally standing.

Despite his pounding, bleeding head, Merlin manages to mumble a curse to all the supernatural creatures who like crumbling, abandoned warehouses. He tries to stand up, but is momentarily flummoxed when he discovers no longer can use his left arm. His chest burns when he moves and Merlin knows he has several broken ribs. That was the trouble with having a demon possessing you; you’ll still get the injuries, still feel the pain, but you wouldn’t die. Merlin wants to laugh, but the pain is too strong. Attempting to tap into Emrys’ power only leaves him with an increased migraine and an intense queasy feeling. It’s only when he hears footsteps and someone calling his name that Merlin remembers Emrys saying that demons can’t heal. It’s when he remembers a fight had been going on too.

“Merlin!”

Arthur’s face appears, coming in and out of focus. Merlin feels himself being gently lifted up leaning against…something… Ah. Arthur’s chest.

“Hey,” Merlin mumbles. His mouth tastes like blood. Licking his lips, Merlin tastes metal and copper; his piercing was covered in blood, making it slick. He forces his eyes to open (had they been closed the whole time?) and watches in morbid fascination as blood soaks his shirt and trickles down his arms.

“Hell.” Rufus then appeares, his keen, wide eyes raking Merlin’s body. “There’s no way you should be alive right now.”

Merlin thinks about his mother _._ His friends, his job, and his home, all of which was stolen from his a long, long time ago.“Yeah, I know,” he says somberly. Something briefly leans against the side of his head in a manner that almost feels like comfort. Merlin can’t tell if he’s hallucinating. At least he’s still lucid enough to know that once he begins hallucinating, it would be really, really bad.

“Shh, Merlin,” Arthur whispers. “Shh, it’s okay.” Something leans against Merlin’s head again and Merlin belatedly realizes that it’s Arthur’s check. At least he hadn’t been hallucinating.

“Damn, the back of your head is…” Rufus trails off. He gives Arthur an apologetic look which Merlin barely understands the meaning for. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but… Fuck. His head… And his body… I truly am sorry.” Shaking his head, Rufus curses like any Hunter would: “Christo.”

Merlin has just enough sanity left to feel his eyes turn black. Just as he starts slipping out of consciousness, Merlin hears distant shouting. He feels his body being yanked out of Arthur’s grasp, but he’s too far gone to really feel the pain.

Until the chanting starts.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ …”

The last, and first, time Merlin has heard the exorcism words had been in Paris 1309. (Why does it seem like everything happens in Paris? Or is that just Merlin?) Emrys had, of course, been in charge. It had been right after Emrys burned a man alive. A Hunter had shown up (or was it a Man of Letters?) and tricked Emrys into a demon’s trap. When he started chanting, Merlin felt white-hot pain; his soul was being ripped apart. He remembered screaming, scratching the walls of his mind until his metaphorical fingernails were torn off.

That was nothing compared to this pain.

“… _omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion_ _infernalis adversarii, omnis legio_ …”

Merlin’s entire being, his molecules and organs and blood, begin rebelling. Neither wants to work with the other. Merlin can _feel_ his body shutting down. His blood boils, his atoms begin rupturing, but his soul…his soul feels like it’s eating itself. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Merlin can feel Emrys. He’s holding on, he’s screaming, he’s – he’s slipping! No! Merlin presses though the pain; he tries to grab Emrys, the black, oozing sludge that Emrys is, but to no avail. Emrys falls. As he falls, he screams. It’s a wordless shout that penetrates Merlin’s skull, and he feels a sting, like a thousand scorpion bites, in his mind. Something flashes before Merlin’s eyes. Pictures? Words? It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

“… _Cessa decipere hum_ –”

The pain stops. Merlin gasps for breath, not understanding what just happened.

“What are you doing?! Arthur, that’s a–”

“My friend! That’s my friend! Don’t you dare–”

Merlin hears shouting, fighting. He tries to get up, tries to get away, but he finds himself curled into a ball. His chest aches every time he takes a breath and his left arm is bent at an angle that shouldn’t be normal, but this is something he could handle. This pain is barely felt. As long as the chanting doesn’t begin, he’ll be fine. No more chanting. Please. No more chanting.

“ _CESSA DECIPERE HUMANAS CREATURAS_ …”

Instinctively, Merlin’s back arches. His mouth is open wide, but his throat is too dry, too sore to make any sound. Something drips into Merlin’s open mouth. It tastes like blood, but he isn’t sure. His right hand paws at the floor in terror, but all it encounters is wet, sticky cement. When had his fingernails torn off?

“… _ESIQUE AETERNAE PERDITIONIS_ …”

He can’t take it. No more. Please.

_Please no more please please Arthur please no more Arthur._

“Arthur,” Merlin moans. Now, his mouth tastes like blood and tears. He wants Arthur to end it. To stop it. Please. Stop it. Help me. Stop it. “ _Arthur_ …”

_BANG!_

And everything stops.

For several seconds, it seems that the entire world stood completely still. Merlin’s ears ring and his whole body trembles – he can barely feel the pain anymore. It isn’t until they reach his face, sooth out his hair, that Merlin even realizes that gentle hands are on him.

“Merlin,” someone whispers.

Merlin blacks out.

x~X~x 

Dreams are unpleasant when you’re the meat suit to a demon. That being said, Merlin’s sure he’s never had dreams as strange and confusing as these.

He dreams he’s in a dark pit. Bodies are strung up with chains, decorating the area like a massive, red and black spider web. _Things_ hover above the bodies. Slicing, dicing, chopping, licking. Some of the bodies, the humans, turn into the _things_. Their skin melts, leaving a cold, twisted humanoid creature that moves to hover over fresh human bodies. They have no eyes; just hollow pits that invoke both fear and pity for the soulless monsters.

Merlin dreams he walks among these creatures. They bow to him. Merlin feels himself smile and continue walking.

Next, Merlin is falling. It’s painful, but Merlin enjoys the pain. He welcomes the dark abyss that lies await under him.

Centuries pass him. People, buildings, landscapes, skies. Everything rushes by him. It travels so fast that he can’t recognize them, but each one looks familiar; each one brings another vague memory, each memory more terrifying then the next. Each memory, _he_ is more terrifying. Then he isn’t because he’s back in the past. Now he is because he’s far in the future. Now he…

Where is he?

What is he?

What is that?

Himself. Merlin now sees himself. He’s kneeling in a forest, picking flowers. Purple. His mum’s favorite.

He feels himself walk up. Merlin watches as his body stands up, his face smiling for a split second before terror envelops his features. Merlin lifts an arm and presses it to his body’s neck. In less than a second, Merlin is back in his own body. But he isn’t Merlin.

He is Emrys.

x~X~x 

Cold. So cold. Too cold. He is cold. No, wait, he’s too hot. Way too hot. Too much is on him. No, too little is covering him. He needs out. Too dark. Can’t see. Can’t see. Can’t –

“Merlin!”

Who? No, that isn’t him. Is it?

No.

Yes.

What?

“Merlin, stop!”

Something is grabbing him.

No! Get it off! Get it off!

“Merlin. Merlin, shh. It’s okay.”

He can’t move. Trapped. Captured. Need to escape. Need to escape–!

“Arthur?”

“Yes. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Merlin is pressed into Arthur’s chest, his head resting just under Arthur’s chin. They were rocking back and forth.

“Dreaming,” Merlin whispers. His throat hurt. “Don’t understand.”

“You’re safe now,” Arthur repeats. His hand gently strokes Merlin’s back.

Merlin falls asleep.

x~X~x 

The next time Merlin wakes seems to be years later. His brain feels groggy, like it hasn’t had enough time to rest, and his muscles ache.

“You’re awake.”

Merlin could’ve sworn Arthur hadn’t been by his bed a few seconds ago.

Wait. Bed?

“Where are we?” he tries to ask, but his throat is so dry, nothing by pitiful ‘ _Uhh_ ’s were the result of his futile attempt to speak.

“Here, drink this,” Arthur says. He slides an arm under Merlin’s shoulder, easing him up. Then a glass is pressed against his lips. Cold water glides down his throat, and Merlin has never been more thankful for water than right now.

“Where are we?” he asks again, his voice coming out much stronger than before. It’s still quite pitiful though. Merlin half-expects Arthur to comment on it, make some sort of joke, but he doesn’t.

“A motel. We’re still in Winchester,” Arthur says. “But don’t worry. Rufus won’t be coming around anytime soon.”

Merlin’s throat feels dry again, but for a completely different reason. “What did you do?”

Arthur hesitates and Merlin’s heart clenches. He doesn’t want to be the reason why Arthur murdered someone in cold blood. Rufus had only been doing what he was taught after all. Arthur didn’t have to kill him. Not for Merlin. Not for Merlin.

“I… I shot him in the knee,” Arthur finally reveals.

The relief Merlin feels can’t be placed into words. “Oh.”

“Then I bound his wrists and his mouth. I called 911 as soon as I got you out of there.”

Merlin has a vague recollection of being carried out, but he isn’t sure.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says. He brushes a hair out of Merlin’s eyes.

“For what?”

“I didn’t kill him. I should’ve, but…I couldn’t.”

For a split second, Merlin isn’t sure what Arthur is talking about.

“… _Oh_. Oh, no. No, I’m glad you didn’t. Kill him.”

“You are?” Arthur raises the glass to Merlin’s lips again, and Merlin takes another sip before explaining.

“Yeah. He was doing what he thought was right, yeah? Can’t kill a man for doing that.” Merlin tries to smile, but it apparently doesn’t look right because Arthur grimaces.

“Merlin…” Then he trails off and Merlin starts to worry. Arthur _never_ trails off.

“Merlin,” Arthur says again. “What he did to you… That’s – That’s never going to happen again, okay? I promise you, I’ll make sure that never happens again.”

Surprised, Merlin blinks a few times, his eye wide as he strives to wrap his mind around what Arthur just promised. “O-Oh. Okay…”

Then, Arthur surprises Merlin even more.

“Go back to sleep, Merlin,” he says and kisses Merlin’s temple, gently squeezing Merlin’s right hand – and whoa, when did Arthur start holding his hand?

“Okay?” Merlin asks as Arthur gently settles him back into the sheets.

Arthur smiles. It’s a combination of old, pratty Arthur and something else that seems…tender.

Merlin closes his eyes and falls asleep to Arthur’s fingers carding through his hair.

x~X~x

The third time Merlin wake up, the sun is shining through the window. Arthur’s asleep on a chair next to Merlin. He looks completely exhausted so Merlin decides against waking him.

Carefully, Merlin sits up. He looked around and realizes how messy the room is. There are bundles of white _somethings_ in the corner of the room. They’re stained with blood. When Merlin looks down on himself, taking in his wrapped chest, plastered arm, and (underneath the blanket that Merlin wasn’t ready to take off yet) bound ankle, he realizes that the blood is his. After he blacked out back at the warehouse, Arthur must’ve rushed him out and taken him here, where the Hunter fixed all his injuries.

Déjà vu tackled Merlin’s brain so violently, he starts shaking. This was just like that night months ago. Only this time, Merlin was the one being taken care of.

Merlin’s heart starts pounding and him stomach won’t stop spasming. Whatever is happening, it only worsens when Arthur wakes up.

“Hmm…? Merlin? You awake?”

Arthur leans forward in the chair, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His hair stands up in several directions and the sun beams down through the curtains and onto his shoulders making him look like he’s radiating gold.

“Fine,” Merlin says, his throat drying up.

Frowning at his voice, Arthur reaches for the cup sitting on the nightstand. “Here, drink some water.”

With shaking hands, Merlin takes the cup, ignoring the way electricity danced down his spine as his fingers brushed Arthur’s, and drowns the whole thing. It isn’t a lot and does absolutely nothing.

Dammit. He knew he was attractive to Arthur, but this? This feeling is far, far more than just attraction. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Arthur asks.

“I’m as fine as I could be given the situation,” Merlin answers truthfully. Then, quietly, he adds, “Thanks. For saving me.”

“Of course,” Arthur replies. His voice is quiet now too. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah. Friends,” Merlin repeats. He falls silent and Arthur doesn’t speak again. Try as he might, Merlin can’t force his eyes away from Arthur’s. It appears that Arthur has the same problem. They stay like that, looking at each other, for quite some time.

Clearing his throat, Arthur blushes and stammers, “I’m… I’m glad you’re alright, Merlin.” He looks down.

“I’m glad you’re alright, too.” Merlin feels his cheeks redden. Why is this so awkward? The air seems so thick you could slice a knife through it.

Arthur is the one to break the silence again. “Merlin?” he asks.

“Yeah?” Merlin looks up. He catches Arthur’s eye and, for a moment, is worried they’d only look at each other like before, repeating the whole process all over again.

He shouldn’t have worried.

After holding his gaze for a moment, with Merlin’s cheeks becoming redder and redder, Arthur surges forward.

Despite his quick motions, Arthur’s hands gently cup Merlin’s face. His thumbs brush against Merlin’s cheekbones once before his lips are on Merlin’s. For a startled second, Merlin stays absolutely still, but as Arthur nibbles and licks his bottom lip, tugging at the piecing, Merlin feels himself melt into Arthur, kissing him back steadily. Somehow, Merlin doesn’t really care how, they ending up lying on their sides in the bed. The sheets had slid down to their mid thighs, but neither cared. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, their lips barely an inch apart.

x~X~x 

“Arthur, we need to stop them. We’re running out of time.”

“You’re not ready yet.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. You _know_ we’re running out of time. We’ve only got a month left.”

“Merlin, you’re not–”

“I’m as healed as I can be right now. Please. We have to stop them.”

There’s a pause before Merlin hears Arthur sigh.

“Alright, alright,” Arthur concedes.

“…You’ll have to let me go though.”

Arthur laughs, tightening his arms around Merlin’s waist. “Maybe I don’t want to,” he whisper in Merlin’s ear.

“Ah, no, no.” Merlin tuts, grabbing Arthur’s hands and moving them away from his zipper.

“Aw, come on. Please?”

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“Hmm…” Arthur pauses in what he must assume is dramatic. “No,” he murmurs, and mouths at Merlin’s ear. “Never.”

“Arthur… _Arthur_! No, wait – Mpff!”

x~X~x 

“Okay, so _now_ we need to get ready and leave.”

“You really want to do that?”

Merlin glances around. The motel is still a mess, not having been cleaned for about two weeks, and so were they, not having left the bed except for the loo and answering the door for pizza and Chinese (Merlin misses Thai). The bed is covered in filth, but it’s warm and it has Arthur.

“No…” Merlin admits. “But that doesn’t mean we should stay here any longer.”

With his head resting against Merlin’s shoulder, Arthur traces a design against Merlin’s chest –it was his turn to be snuggled, and Arthur would never admit it, but he is a _massive_ snuggler– and huffs.

“You’re a killjoy, you know that?”

“We’ll have time later. _After_ we stop Alistair and Azazel.”

There is another pause, this one longer. “Do you really think,” Arthur asks quietly, “That we’ll stop them?”

“Not if we don’t get our arses up,” Merlin replies, rolling his eyes. He stops when he sees how seriously Arthur is. “…Of course I do Arthur. You’re _Arthur Pendragon_ and I’m Emrys. We can do it.”

Arthur doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks rather…concerned. “You’re _who_?”

Merlin cocks his head. Didn’t he say who he…

“Oh. Oh shit.”

x~X~x 

“Say it again.”

Merlin sighs. “Arthur, I’ve been saying the same thing for the past three hours.”

“No.” Arthur holds up a finger, shaking his arm back and forth. “No, you’ve been speaking for the past three hours, and every time you say something new.”

“So?”

“ _So_? So maybe you’ll remember something that Emrys found out! Something about the gun!”

“Colt,” Merlin corrects in exasperation.

“…What?”

“Colt,” Merlin repeats, rolling his eyes. “You know, the gun? Made by Samuel Colt. Able to kill any supernatural creature. Ringing any bells?”

Arthur looks at Merlin like he grew another head. Merlin’s throat goes dry.

“Didn’t… Didn’t I say that already?”

Arthur’s jaw clicks shut. “No.”

“Oh…”

For a moment, it seems like old Arthur was back. The past weeks didn’t mean anything; not the confessions or the sex or the –

“This is brilliant!” Arthur exclaims suddenly. He jumps off the bed, pacing back and forth. “But now we just need to find it. Merlin,” Arthur reaches for Merlin’s shoulders and grips them tightly. His eyes shine with excitement. “Merlin, where is it? Where is the weapon? The Colt?”

“I – I don’t–” Merlin stammers, trying to catch up with Arthur’s thought process. Hadn’t he been angry a second ago…?

“Think, Merlin!” Arthur shouts, gripping Merlin’s shoulders tighter.

“I – It’s…” Merlin closes his eyes. “Ah – hidden. Hidden somewhere…somewhere in a…um,” a picture is forming in Merlin’s mind. It’s blurry, but there. Close. It’s somewhere close. Emrys knew _something_. Merlin just has to figure out what.

“Here!” he exclaims, his eyes popping open. “Arthur, it’s here! In Winchester! It’s in a warehouse!”

The words barely left Merlin’s mouth before Arthur is kissing him.

“You’re brilliant,” Arthur says, smiling and brushing his thumbs across Merlin’s cheeks. “Absolutely brilliant. Let’s go!”

“Wait! Arthur! Put some clothes on!”

x~X~x 

The warehouse is old and abandoned.

“Why am I not surprised?” Merlin mutters, looking up at the building.

“Always old, abandoned, creepy places,” Arthur nods. “What is wrong with a nice, new, _small_ shack. That would be a great place to hide something.”

“But no, it’s got to be the biggest, oldest, and deserted place ever,” Merlin agrees, shaking his head.

Without any further communication, the two walk into the building.

“At least it’s daylight.”

“Shut up, Merlin. Don’t jinx us.”

x~X~x 

“Technically…I didn’t jinx us.”

Arthur scowls at Merlin. He’s currently hanging upsidedown while Merlin is in (surprise, surprise) a demon’s trap.

“Kindly shut up.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Touchy, touchy.”

“I’ll show _you_ touchy, touchy!”

“Arthur, that’s not really a threat.”

“Oh, shut up!”

But Arthur is grinning so Merlin laughs.

“The good news is I suppose,” Merlin muses, “That at least no one’s here to witness our epic fail.”

Arthur’s struggling to untie the rope around his feet, but he pauses long enough to give Merlin a wink. “Well, I thought it was a pretty nice kiss.”

“Until we hit a trip-wire, yeah it was.” Kneeling down, Merlin feels the wood beneath. “Arthur, I think this wood is rotting.”

“Merlin, don’t you dare.”

Merlin looks up incredulously. “You don’t even know what I was about to say!”

“You were about to suggest you stomping on it until it broke free and then you could either free me or find the Colt yourself.”

“…Okay, so you knew what I was going to say.”

“You’re barely recovered from – you know. So you can’t do it. I forbid it!” Arthur looks ridiculous shouting at Merlin from upsidedown, but Merlin is no longer in a mood to laugh.

“You forbid it? Arthur, I’m not your servant. You can’t _forbid_ me to do anything. Besides, all the locations of the booby-traps are in here–” Merlin taps to his head “–and I’ve already told you that we only have a month left! The sooner we kill Alastair and Azazel, the better off the whole world will be!”

In a fit of immaturity, Merlin stomps his foot on the floor.

He falls through.

“ _MERLIN_!” Arthur screams.

Coughing away the dust, Merlin tests his legs and arms. His chest hurts and he dislocated his shoulder, but other than that, he’s –

“Fine! I’m fine, Arthur!”

Carefully, Merlin popped his shoulder back in its place. He presses the arm tightly against his abdomen and tries his best not to jolt it.

“Then come back up here and release me!” Arthur shouts.

“Alright!” Merlin looks around. “I don’t see any stairs!”

There isn’t a reply, but Merlin can just imagine Arthur’s infuriated sigh and condescending eye roll.

Something tingles in Merlin’s mind. Another memory. He’s been here before.

No. _Emrys_ had been here before. He’d been… He was…

 _Oh_.

“I was trying to stop him,” Merlin whispers in understanding. “I was trying to kill…”

Without realizing, Merlin began walking toward a section of the wall. He holds up his hand and presses the brick. There were no deformities or indications that this brick was different than the others, but as soon as Merlin pressed it, a portion of the wall opens. Merlin hesitates. He can still hear Arthur shouting his name, but, for some reason, Merlin knew that he couldn’t speak. Not here.

He steps through.

x~X~x 

Merlin steps out of the shadows. He’s almost giddy with excitement. Not only has he retrieved the Colt, but he’d also tapped into _all_ of Emrys’ powers, and because Emrys had been a Knight of Hell, all Merlin has to do to get from one place to another is think. (Which, okay, is actually a lot harder than it sounds.)

“Merlin!”

Oh yes.

“Hello, Arthur. Looking a little red in the face.”

Arthur whips around –and since he’s hanging upsidedown it was quite a comical spectacle– and sputters. “Merlin! Where the hell have you been?!”

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” he replies cheekily. “Just…getting this.” Merlin holds up a gun.

“The Colt! How – Where – WHOA!” Arthur rubs his head. “A little warning next time? The floor rushing to meet my face is not something I like to see. Especially when I was upsidedown.”

“Sorry,” Merlin says sheepishly. “Let’s just be happy that I remembered – er, I mean Emrys knew how to get past all the traps.” He offers his hand; Arthur takes it without hesitation.

“How?” Arthur asks as he, very carefully, rises to his feet. “How did he know where the traps were?”

“Oh, um.” Merlin bites his lip, looking down at the floor. “He sorta…tried to kill Samuel and, uh, was trying to steal the Colt, but I sorta…got in the way…”

Arthur gives Merlin a blank stare.

“I didn’t remember it until a little while ago,” Merlin explains quickly. “But there was a time where I, and I mean me, Merlin, fought against Emrys. He was doing something and I…I just didn’t want him to succeed. Not that I didn’t have those feelings when he was doing, you know, other stuff, but it was just this one particular thing that I knew he couldn’t do so I just sorta–”

Merlin breaks off as a pair of lips seal over his and a tongue dives into his mouth. He nearly drops the gun as one hand twists into his hair and the other presses against his lower back, slipping down to cup his arse. With just enough brain cells, Merlin tightens his grip on the Colt just before it fell.

Arthur tugs one last time on Merlin’s bottom lip before saying, “You talk too much. 

“S-Sorry,” Merlin apologizes, making a mental note to talk too much more often. He tries to kiss Arthur again, but the bastard takes a step back, laughing.

“Let’s get out of here first, Merlin.”

“Right. Yes. Out.” Merlin really isn’t thinking clearly yet. He was half-hard in his jeans and the rest of his blood isn’t going anywhere near his brain, but to a totally different location . “At least the building’s still standing,” he says.

The building starts creaking.

“Oh, you just _had_ to say that, didn’t you?” Arthur asks not unkindly. He grabs Merlin’s hand. “Come on!”

They run through the warehouse, dodging the falling whatever-it-was-at-the-moment and grinning the whole time.

“You sure have a knack for jinxing us, Merlin,” Arthur pants out when they’re finally back outside, leaning against the car and looking at the demolished building.

Merlin laughs because Arthur is still holding his hand and grinning. He stops laughing when police sirens start blaring.

Without another word, both men scramble into the car. Arthur slams on the gas and, with a cloud of dust trailing behind, they drive fast and far away from the building.

“I think it’s time we found ourselves in Maryland,” Arthur says quietly, the sirens long behind them.

Merlin nods. “I think you’re right.”

x~X~x 

This is it. The last time they’d have to be together. Neither says anything about it, but both know that the other isn’t planning on surviving the fight. Both know they don’t have a chance a snowballs chance in hell. Both know that they’ll do anything to make sure the other was the one to live on for tomorrow.

Both know the other thought the exact same thing.

“God, Arthur,” Merlin moans. When Emrys had wondered what Arthur would do when he found the inner thigh tattoo, Merlin’s sure that even Emrys couldn’t have even imagine _this_.

They’re in the shower. It started with “let’s save water” and ended with…well, it’s not too difficult to figure out.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur sighs. He stands up and pulls Merlin’s wet body closer to his own. Their lips are constantly on the other’s; never leaving, never letting go. They breathe each other’s air and scent and neither can get enough.

“Can we take…take this…to the…” Merlin groans as Arthur did that amazing _something_ with his wrist. For a moment, his brain goes completely on “off” and he has no idea what he had been about to say, let alone that he’d even been speaking.

“To the bed,” Arthur finishes for him. “Yes, yes, God yes.”

Somehow, they manage to turn the shower off. Not even bothering to dry off, they stumble into the dark room where the motel beds are.

“Where is the bed?” Merlin asks, in between kisses.

Arthur isn’t able to pry is mouth away from Merlin’s to answer, but that’s okay because they both had fall down, landing on the exact thing Merlin inquired about. They kiss frantically before Merlin realizes heis the one on top.

“Oh God, Arthur,” Merlin chokes out. “Can I–? Can–? Please–?” he tries to ask without moving his mouth too far away from Arthur’s.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur answers readily, his thighs spreading opened. “God, yes.”

Merlin starts to reach for the lube, but is blinding when the light is turned on.

He didn’t even touch the lamp.

Not to mention, the light came from behind him, where the telly was.

“Sorry,” a voice says that was definitely _not_ his or Arthur’s and sounds strangely high-pitched. “Just thought I’d stop this before it became too heated.”

Merlin rolls off of Arthur, who sat up in angered bewilderment. Merlin feels the exact same.

“Who the hell are you?” he demands. He gives half a thought to his erect cock, but pushes it away immediately. This is no time to be embarrassed, even if the voice sounds female.

“Get. Out,” Arthur growls, a hand coming up to grip Merlin’s thigh possessively.

And, _fucking hell_ , all Arthur accomplished with that was making Merlin’s cock ache even more.

“Oh, I will,” the female says. She stands up and Merlin feels his cheeks blush with the embarrassment he pushed away seconds before. It wasn’t a woman – it was a fucking _little girl_. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

“But I’ll be ‘getting out’ with you two right behind me. Put some clothes on. We’ll be leaving in a few moments and you can’t be naked,” she wrinkles her face in a way that would’ve been cute on literally _any other child in the entire world but her_ , “That’s just yucky.”

Arthur stands up, completely undeterred by the age of their intruder. “We’ll do no such thing.”

The girl frowns at Arthur, as if she can’t understand why he wasn’t obeying her. In a split second, Arthur is flung across the room; he hits the stupid picture the motel put up and lands on the second motel bed. Glass is everywhere. Merlin wants to run to him, but he can’t. He just can’t get his body to move.

The girl’s eyes aren’t black. They’re white-grey.

“Lilith,” Merlin whispers.

The little girl – _Lilith–_ smiles. It’s an expression that sound never be on such a young child, and it terrifies Merlin. “Go tend to your little Hunter, Emrys. You have ten minutes.”

Merlin turns and runs, no longer caring about his nudity. This is no innocent child standing in front of him. It’s _Lilith_ ; the only person other than Lucifer stronger than the Knights of Hell – stronger than Merlin.

Somehow, he isn’t entirely sure how he manages it, but Merlin disinfects Arthur scratches, puts them both in clothing, and grabs the Colt. He hopes that the last part of his actions went unnoticed by Lilith.

x~X~x 

“I hear you’ve been looking for us,” Azazel says, his grin smug.

Alastair’s fingers tap against Arthur’s chest. “Well, you’ve found us. What are you ganna do?” His fingers continue toying with Arthur’s chest and shirt.

Despite trying to control himself, Merlin feels his eyes turn black. “Stop it,” he hisses.

“What? Don’t like me doing this?” Alastair’s fingers dance down from Arthur’s chest to where he’s still half-hard in his jeans. “Does this anger you Emrys? Well come stop me.”

The three demons roar in laughter. They knew damn well neither Merlin nor Arthur could stop any of them. Arthur is in the same position as he was the night Merlin helped him escape. His arms are chained with metal and he’s been pushed onto his knees with his feet bound to the floor. Arthur’s mouth is gagged, but his eyes yell enough profanity to make up for it. Next to him, Merlin’s chained to a vertical demon’s trap. It’s made of metal and there are still bits of flesh stuck between the crevices. He isn’t an idiot – Merlin knew exactly what was going to happen to him. Alastair.

But by some miracle, nobody had checked either of them for weapons. The Colt is safe, and so long as no one rips Arthur’s shirt off and checks the small of his back, the Colt would stay safe.

“What do you think we should do with them now?” Azazel asks.

“Well, I have plans for this one,” Alastair says, tugging against Arthur’s hair. “We never finished last time.”

Lilith speaks for the first time since she brought them here. “Yes, and I’ve got plans, for this little one.” She stalks up to Merlin, looking both terrifying and ridiculous in a blood-stained flower-patterned dress. “Let’s break the last seal, honey,” she purrs, and coming from a child, that was just _creepy_. “When a demon turns from his destiny and starts a new one.”

“I’ve…never heard of that one,” Merlin says, relieved his voice sounds steady.

“Not may have. Lucifer didn’t like to think of that particular one. He kept it hidden.”

“And soon, he will rise,” Azazel concludes. All three of them have smiles on their faces.

“Fuck you all,” Merlin spits out.

Then the strangest thing happens.

“Naw. Let’s kill them. They’re way too ugly to fuck.”

In absolute surprise, everyone whips their heads around to see…

Rufus. Rufus Turner. With a big shotgun.

“Miss me?” he asks.

Merlin doesn’t even think when he answers, “Oh, God yes.”

x~X~x 

After everything that’s happened, stopping Lucifer from rising seemed easy.

The first thing Rufus does is throw some sort of grenade. Smoke fills the air, but it isn’t regular smoke. It’s smoke filled with all sorts of blessed trinkets inside.

“Is that ash?” Merlin asks.

“Blessed by a priest in Quebec,” Rufus grunts as he tugs at the manacles. He doesn’t mention the last time they met, not that they had time to, but Merlin understands this was Rufus’ own way of apologizing.

In no time, Merlin’s free. He rushes to Arthur and removes the Colt just as Alastair clears the smoke and throws himself at the three of them. Merlin fires and the demon falls to the ground, red and black sparks jerking across Alastair’s body.

“You take care of them,” Rufus says, nodding at the direction Alastair came from. “I got Arthur.”

Merlin runs into the smoke…and is immediately tackled by Azazel. His grip on the Colt stays strong though as he and the other demon wrestle – Azazel trying to get the Colt, Merlin trying to stand up.

Fists are flying, but hardly any of them are hits. Azazel manages to punch Merlin’s nose, sending blood spatters everywhere, but Merlin retaliates by kneeing him in the crotch. While the demon is down, Merlin stands up quickly. He points the gun at Azazel’s head, but just as he’s about to pull the trigger, something jumps on his back.

Dammit! He’d forgotten about Lilith!

The little girl claws his face and pulls his hair. Her nails grow into long, sharp claws.

“Merlin!” he hears Arthur shout. Then there’s a crash as Arthur collided with…something.

Still unable to see –and still gripping the Colt with all his might– Merlin runs into the wall. This turned out to be a much needed blessing. He turns and slams his back against the wall, hitting and hitting it with all his force until Lilith finally falls away. Able to see again, Merlin watches the struggle Arthur and Azazel were having. Taking a deep breath, Merlin aims the Colt and fires.

Azazel slumps forward.

“Merlin!” Arthur cries. He pushes the body off of him and runs to the swaying man. “Merlin, are you okay?”

Merlin feels drained. Like he used his powers, but he doesn’t remember…

“That was some fight,” Rufus comments, panting heavily. “You and Lilith…that was something else.”

“Was it?” Merlin asks weakly. He wants nothing more than to fall into a deep sleep, but something tugs on the back of his brain. “Lilith… Where is she?”

They look around, but no trace of her can be found.

Rufus shrugs. “Worry about her tomorrow. Today, celebrate. Lucifer won’t be rising for a long time.”

Merlin shakes his head. “But Lilith. She just needs to break one more seal, and–”

“Merlin, look,” Arthur interrupts. 

For the first time, Merlin looks at where he had been taken. It’s a small church, but the area where Lucifer is supposed to arise from is…

“Missing?” Merlin questions, not understanding what he was seeing.

“No,” Arthur corrects smiling. “Hiding. Merlin, what you did was incredible!”

“What did I do?”

Arthur’s smile slips. “Merlin… You don’t remember? You were muttering the whole time and then suddenly–”

“Boom,” Rufus puts in. “The whole place disappeared. “Don’t know where it went. I don’t even think Lilith knows.”

Merlin’s knees collapse and Arthur catches him, easing him down. “She won’t. No one ever will.”

“Why? Where is it?” Arthur asks.

Merlin finally relaxes his hand and the Colt tumbles out, but something else stays in his hand. It’s a black gem.

“Is that–?”

Merlin doesn’t hear the rest of Rufus’ question. He blacks out.

x~X~x

Waking up to see Arthur watching him isn’t unusual. The concerned, slightly worried look is.

“Damn. What happened now?” he asks groggily.

“You passed out,” Arthur answers quietly.

“Again? It was supposed to be your turn,” Merlin says jokingly.

Arthur, however, doesn’t look amused. “Merlin, do you remember what happened?’

“Sort of,” he answers honestly. With Arthur’s help, Merlin manages to sit up. Nothing feels broken or sprained. “I remember the fight, but…” Merlin shakes his head. “Lucifer. Something about Lucifer.”

Arthur produces a small, smooth black gem from the night stand. (Merlin likes this motel; the colors aren’t as disgustingly bright or boringly plain as most of the others.) The gem is wrapped in a large towel.

Somehow, Merlin understands.

“I did that. Didn’t I?”

Arthur nods.

“I put Lucifer’s cage…in there.”

“That’s what Rufus and I believe.”

“…How?”

Shrugging, Arthur wraps the gem back in the towel. “We don’t know. Frankly, we don’t care. It’s over. Alastair and Azazel are dead, Lucifer won’t ever be coming back, and you’re safe.”

“There’s still Lilith,” Merlin says with some urgency. He remembers all those months ago, that once it was over, he and Arthur would part ways. Is that still the case? Will Arthur kick him out now?

“She’s a problem for tomorrow,” Arthur dismisses. He bends down and kisses Merlin’s forehead before slipping under the covers. “Sleep for now.”

And Merlin, snuggling closer to Arthur’s warmth, smiles and does just that. He knows he wasn’t going anywhere.

0~X~0

_Arthur and Merlin sat against a tree. Despite the pitch black darkness, lightened only by the flickering bright lights, shaped like that of a dragon, which danced in front of Merlin, neither were scared. They had no reason to be frightened for it was them whom monsters feared._

_“So…”_

_Merlin tilted his head, the only sign he gave to prove he was listening. The dragon cast shadows on his face, making his expression unreadable._

_“What now?” Arthur asked, twirling a dagger in his hands. They’d gone to the woods to bury and burn the last traces of the two demons. Rufus had already burned their bodies before parting ways. He might not have felt completely comfortable with Merlin, but he was no longer trying to exorcise him._

_Grinning, Merlin answered, “Anything,” and swung his leg so he was sitting across Arthur’s lap. “The world is ours.”_

_Arthur laughed and ran his hands up Merlin’s thighs to his chest. He fondled the ring handing around Merlin’s neck and tugged it, gently pulling him closer. “And you’re mine.”_

_“And you’re mine,” Merlin repeated, his grin softening as his eyes stared into Arthur’s. Unconsciously, Merlin leaned in closer and Arthur brought his head up, gently touching his lips to Merlin’s._

_“We’re each other’s,” he said. “For eternity.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Where I got the exorcism from: http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Exorcism 
> 
> The “seal” I talk about is not meant to be interpreted as real! I couldn’t find anything on the 66 (or is it 666?) seals, so I made one up. I repeat: I made it up. Just FYI. 
> 
> I had so much fun writing this! Hope you all enjoyed :)


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